


strings that bind us

by theshipshipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, Modern Westeros, ps if you liked my bodyguard au you MIGHT like this too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25979446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipshipper/pseuds/theshipshipper
Summary: “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to be trouble?”Jon Snow joined the Night’s Watch with the intention of uncovering the truth behind the death of the man who raised him like a son. When he’s finally given the chance to do so, his investigation brings him all the way to the Vale.And to a woman named Alayne Stone.“Funny,” he replies in a quiet tone, taking a shallow breath as he forces his gaze back up to meet her steel blue eyes. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 144
Kudos: 199





	1. Jon I

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHHH! I've been writing this one for a while now as a sort of stress reliever hehe and also bc I missed writing an action-packed fic (similar to one i finished a year or so ago). I didn't think i'd actually post this but here we are. Anyway, this is going to be a long ride and I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> P.S. Please keep in mind that tags may be changed/updated as i continue writing this fic so please keep track of it if you can. Also, since you're here, thank you for giving this a chance!

It's the sudden vibration of the phone on Jon's desk that takes his attention away from the report he's working on. He reaches for it and finds a barrage of text messages coming in from Theon Greyjoy, demanding to know where he is and what time they should expect him to arrive. 

He takes a glance at his watch, realizing only then that he should've left the office a while ago if he wanted to make it in time for his flight back to Winterfell for Robb's wedding early the next day. 

Heaving out a tired sigh, he takes a look around the brightly lit room. At first glance, the place seems like a common office. Fluorescent lights, the old air conditioner humming softly from a distance, plain white walls with generic artwork hung up all around the room. There's about fifteen work desks lined up neatly at the center, and about the same number of people occupying them as they worked.

Careful inspection would reveal the truth, however. Like the gun resting on Edd's desk, the dried blood on the collar of Grenn's otherwise plain blue polo, and Pyp sleeping on his desk with a bruised face and broken arm. 

In truth, they were far from normal people. Instead of dwelling on this though, he shakes off the stray thoughts and refocuses himself on finishing his report. He leans over his desk to scan the document carefully for any visible errors, making sure he'd thoroughly included all necessary details before finally logging it into their database.

"That's me done for the night," he announces half an hour later, turning to Grenn one desk over with a smug expression on his face for finishing his work first. "See you all in a week."

Jon stands up to stretch his aching limbs, preparing to leave, and he's just grabbed his coat from the back of his chair when he hears someone call for him.

"Snow. Director wants you in the briefing room," Agent Thorne, one of his superiors, informs him, giving him the usual sour look that's often reserved just for him. He doesn't wait for Jon to respond before heading back to his own office. "Now." 

Jon rolls his eyes in slight irritation; the guy was his Supervising Officer when he first joined the agency. He was tough, didn't like him very much, and always tried to make his life a living hell. The years haven't made him any less frustrating but Jon has faced far more threatening people in his eight years working as an agent of the Night’s Watch to still be affected by his former S.O's ire. 

"You were so close to getting away," Grenn quips, a playful smirk on his face. "Are you getting a new mission, do you think? Guess you'll have to miss your little vacation again then, huh?"

His brows crease into a frown as he grabs his phone from his desk. "I'm not missing anything," he mutters, somewhat defensive. His friends in Winterfell have complained about his constant absence during many important life events enough times that it's become a touchy subject for him. It comes with the job but it doesn't mean he has to like it. “I can't be getting a new mission this soon. Sam hasn't even cleared me from medical yet."

It turns out that he’s wrong; the director of the agency is already waiting for him at the briefing room when he arrives, sitting thoughtfully at the frontmost seat at the round table. There's another agent present there and Jon immediately recognizes the guy as someone from the tech department.

"Agent Snow, I'm glad we caught you before you left," Director Mormont greets him upon his entry, gestures at the other agent. "You know Agent Waters?"

"Yes, sir," he answers and nods to Gendry in greeting. 

They've previously worked on a few recons together; the guy is smart, efficient, pretty funny, and works well under pressure. He's new to the agency but Jon thinks he'd be a pretty decent asset years down the line, definitely someone he would want watching his back on ops.

"Good. Come and sit, son. We have a lot to discuss."

Jon does as asked, sitting on the empty chair next to Gendry, who slides a folder towards him; it's a file on some guy named Robert Arryn, 22 years old, heir to one of the largest companies in the South -- at least until he was murdered in his sleep six months ago.

"This case crossed our radar a few months back," Mormont begins to explain. "We believe it's connected to one of our inactive cases, a pretty old one, but we thought it was necessary to pursue the lead. Agent Waters, if you please?"

Gendry rises from his seat to stand at the front with his laptop on hand. He types in a few commands until his screen is projected on the screen behind him.

He clears his throat before turning his attention to Jon. "Uh, the victim’s name is Robert Arryn, as stated on the folder I just handed you. Based on the police report, they've identified three possible suspects to his murder, all of whom are connected to him in one way or the other. Two has been cleared --" the screen turns to an image of a woman, probably in her mid-forties to early fifties. She has pale blue eyes and long auburn hair, her facial features resembling the victim's significantly. "Lysa Arryn, mother to the victim. She’s forty-seven years old and died of a heart attack just a day following his son’s death. Doctors said she became hysterical when she found out Arryn died and they couldn’t tie her to the crime so the police cleared her from the investigation."

Next, Gendry shows them a picture of a male suspect; he’s probably around the same age as the woman but he looks much younger. The man has sandy grey hair, thin facial hair on the chin. He has sharp features, and an expression on his face that seems both taunting and smug.

"Petyr Baelish, Robert Arryn's stepfather. He's forty-five, has been married to Lysa Arryn for a decade now. Police cleared him pretty quickly, he has an airtight alibi and no clear motive. We don't have much on him, either, so that leaves our third and most likely candidate - "

Gendry turns to the next slide of his presentation. "Harry Hardyng, 26 years old, served in the Southern army for a few years before he was discharged, currently the CEO of a company in the Eyrie called Ironoaks. Based on what we know so far he has the most to gain from Robert's death." Gendry takes a breath before continuing. "He's a distant relative to the victim and the only remaining heir to the entire Arryn fortune."

Jon leans over the table, confused for multiple reasons. First of all, this didn't seem like a case the agency would normally take an interest in. Second, he's not sure what he's even doing in there. It's only been weeks since he got off the year long mission from Hardhome and like he'd told Grenn, he's not cleared from medical yet so this can't possibly be a new op for him.

"Forgive me, sir, but -- " He turns to the Director, trying to word his thoughts properly before speaking. "I know I haven’t heard much of this yet but this case seems motivated by a personal agenda. Arryn is a businessman, there’s no obvious political gain or ramification connected to his death. This won't have any effect on a national level, security or otherwise. It just doesn't seem like a case for us."

"Not on the surface, no,” Mormont grants, his expression thoughtful as he regards Jon. “But like I've mentioned, it may be linked to one of our old cases. Whoever wanted Robert Arryn dead didn't want to get their hands dirty. They hired someone else for the job."

Jon feels his body freeze as the puzzles start to click into place, his heartbeat coming quicker than before. There’s only one reason they’d think he’d be interested in this. 

"You mean -- "

"Forensic evidence ties this murder to Ilyn Payne, alias The Butcher. He's responsible for at least two dozen more crimes," Gendry is the one to say, typing on his laptop to pull up an old file that Jon already knows so well. "His last kill fell under the Night's Watch jurisdiction -- the assissination of presidential candidate, Ned Stark."

"Why... why are you telling me all this?" he directs his question at Mormont, confused still.

He draws in a deep breath before glancing up at the screen, greeted by the somber face of a man he always considered a father. He can’t even count the number of times he’d pulled out the same file out of inventory; constantly researching, trying to find the answers to questions that brought him to the Night’s Watch in the first place. 

"Because I want you to take the case," Mormont answers, gruff and direct. "That is -- if you choose to take it on."

He frowns at that. "Last time we spoke about this, I begged you to let me reopen the case. You said no, told me it wasn't possible. Told me I was too close to the victim."

"And I stand by that," Mormont tells him. "But things are different now."

"How so?"

"We've been on the Arryn case for months but it hasn't shown progress. I'm afraid the trail is growing cold, which means Payne will get away again if we don't speed up our operations. That is where you come in." Mormont lets out a sigh, fixes him a serious look. "We have an agent assigned to the suspect, Harry Hardyng, but he hasn't gotten close enough to dig deep for intel."

Jon takes the folder in front of him and flips to Hardyng's profile; he's a couple years younger than him, blonde, blue-eyed. Looks like a typical douchey rich boy, really, and the life he's lived based on what they have on him just further proves it. He's also got a military background which could, though unlikely, explain how he got into contact with Ilyn Payne. Maybe a friend knew a friend, got the two in contact. 

As soon as Hardyng was discharged, he was immediately placed at the helm of Ironoaks, a company owned by his adoptive parents, both of whom seem to really care for him. He's also been recently engaged to an Alayne Stone, presumably an heiress, but it doesn't say a lot about any of them on the file.

Based on what Jon has read so far, it's safe to assume that life has been kind to Hardyng, which makes him wonder why the guy would risk all that to kill someone. _Greed, maybe_ , he considers. But why make it so obvious? Considering he’s next in line to inherit the family fortune, he should've known that all fingers would point to him as soon as word got out that Arryn was killed.

He has clear motives and he obviously has the means to keep his hands clean, but it all adds up too well for Jon, which is unlike any of the other cases linked to Ilyn. They can always tell it's him because he has a pattern and he uses a signature bullet that ties him to the crime, but this would be the first time that the identity of his benefactor is so... _apparent_.

So he has to ask: "What makes us so sure Hardyng really ordered the hit?"

"Right now, we can't be sure that he did. But it can't be just anyone -- if not him then it'll be someone else who has plenty to gain from Arryn's death," Mormont grants, letting out a sigh as he leans back on his chair. "That's what we need to find out in order to track Ilyn Payne but we won't be able to unless we get someone into Hardyng's inner circle, someone who can gain his trust and gather intel from the inside."

"You mean me," he states, flat, understanding it all now. That last line is the final piece to the puzzle, it shows him the bigger picture of what Mormont has been getting at all along. But Jon's not just a field agent, he's a specialist. The most important part of his job is to keep his identity hidden; to blend into the shadows and gather information like a ghost. And yet... "You want me to go in without any cover."

"I know it's a big risk but it's our best bet. We can fabricate a new identity, sure, but none believable enough to hold up under scrutiny. In fact, we've tried. Hardyng's people are thorough, sniffs it out in a second. We need someone already on the inside, someone they think they can trust and let through their golden doors."

Jon understands what he means to imply, can even admit that it has its merits. But he's asking for a lot. It's not even the risk; he'd give up everything he has if it means finally repaying Ned Stark for all that he's done for him growing up. But this -- claiming an identity that has brought him nothing but misery?

"Jon, this is the only way. I know it will be difficult but you've infiltrated far more dangerous institutions than this and you've never failed," Mormont points out, not incorrectly, "You’re a man of the Night’s Watch which means you have the perfect skill set for the task at hand and more important than that -- you have the right name."

"And if I say no?"

Mormont humors him; considers the unlikely possibility of him saying no. "We can explore other options, continue with the current Agent in place and wait for him to get up to the ranks to gather intel. It'll take time and resources and it would most likely show very little results, if at all."

Jon's quiet as he considers everything and it's only when his phone vibrates from his pocket that he remembers he's supposed to be halfway to Winterfell by now. He pulls the device out of his pocket, sees the latest message Theon has sent him. 

_Jon if you don't respond, istg i will go to wherever the hell you are and drag your ass back to winterfell myself_ , he texts. _Robb is counting on you._

As soon as Gendry mentioned Ned Stark's name, there was no way Jon was ever going to say no to this mission. Mormont knows it, he knows it. But the text from Theon, that last line, it feels like a sign somehow. 

Jon was sixteen when his mother died of an illness; Ned Stark was the one who took him in after, gave him a home and some semblance of family. Gave him a _brother_. As difficult as it was for him when Ned died, it was nothing compared to Robb. He didn’t just lose a father, he lost the last remaining piece of the family he once had. 

He looks up at Mormont, his mind completely made up. "What do you need me to do?"

  
  


Jon misses his flight back to winterfell but he does manage to hitch a ride from a Night's Watch pilot en route to extract an agent from a mission down South. He arrives at the Stark estate just a little after nine in the morning, greeted by Theon at the front gate. 

"You couldn't send a single text to let me know you actually were on the way?" he complains as soon as Jon is close enough, punches him lightly on the shoulder. "I would've taken even just an OTW text, you asshole. I thought you went MIA again."

Jon can’t blame him for thinking so; he’d done it too many times to them in the past. It’s not that he wanted to but that he had to. Like so many things, it comes with the job. Once he goes undercover, he can’t make contact with anyone he knows. He supposes a benefit of going into this new op as himself is that he won’t have to do that for the time being.

"I wanted to make you sweat a little," he tells Theon, trying for a laugh. 

His friend merely scowls at him, pushing him towards the house. "Go inside and freshen up a bit, yeah? You look a mess. Your room's already set up for you. Be ready in half an hour or I swear I'll really kick your ass."

The house is busy with preparations when he gets inside but he manages to get to his old room on the second floor without much trouble. He takes a quick shower before changing into the suit someone, most likely the bride-to-be herself, had left for him hanging by the closet door. 

He doesn’t take long to shower and change so he heads over straight to Robb's room as soon as he's done. He finds the man sitting quietly on the edge of his bed. In that moment, he looks very much like his father; forehead creased as his mind wanders, his eyes turning a darker shade of blue from the dimly lit room that it almost seems gray. The look lasts only for a moment before his face brightens up with a smile upon noticing his arrival.

"You made it," Robb says cheerfully, rising from his bed to give him a tight hug. "Theon owes me ten dragons. He bet me you'd be a no-show."

"I wasn't going to miss this for the world," he assures even as he rolls his eyes, "How are you feeling, man?"

Robb blows out a breath. "Nervous, anxious, but mostly excited. I can't wait to be married, start a family -- the whole thing." His smile falters just a bit. "This house is too big to be on my own, you know?"

Jon nods in understanding, unsure how to respond. He'd lived there himself way back when and even with Robb and Ned there with him, the house still felt lonely. He can't imagine how much worse it must've been after Ned died and he left.

He clears his throat, determined not to let his best friend dwell on his heartaches on his special day. "Well, I heard from Theon that it won't be long before this house is full of little pups again," he says, going for a smile. *When's the baby due?"

"In four months," Robb replies on a laugh, his face brightening up again. "It's insane, really. I can't believe it's all happening. Talisa and I actually visited her doctor just a few days ago and we finally found out the baby's gender."

"Yeah?"

Robb nods. "It's a boy. We're thinking of naming him Eddard."

Jon's smile freezes on his mouth, unsure how to respond when last night's briefing with Director Mormont is still so fresh in his mind. Thankfully, he doesn't have to when Theon pops into the room just in time. He's quiet after that, listening to Robb and Theon exchange familiar banter as they fill him in on things that he'd missed since his last visit. 

The wedding is a small and intimate affair, with about seventy guests gathered at the estate in total. Some of them Jon knew from his time in Winterfell, others were complete strangers to him. 

There's something odd about the familiarity of it all, he can't help but think as he leans against the railing of the Starks' back patio. Being there, seeing faces he could recognize as they celebrated Robb and Talisa's nuptials. It's somewhat predictable that in the years that he'd been away, Winterfell has remained exactly the same. Strange, though, to realize that of all things, he has changed the most. 

He takes a swig from his bottle of beer, quietly observing the guests from a distance. He's never been much for parties, so he enjoys the solitude provided by the obscure hiding spot he's found for himself until Theon ultimately discovers him.

"Fucking hell, you haven't changed a bit," his friend lets him know before dragging him towards the mobile bar where most of his and Robb's friends are at. Jon has met most of them, except for one guy that Theon introduces simply as 'Pod'.

He’s a fairly friendly looking guy; dressed in a crisp blue polo, no tie, and a decently ironed pair of slacks. His shoes look old but well-polished so he probably uses it a lot. The most notable thing about him that Jon notices is how uncomfortable he seems wearing his glasses, so it must be new or just a fashion accessory.

"I think you two will get along," Theon informs them with a grin, patting Jon on the back as he pushes him towards the guy. "You're both extremely antisocial. Talk about that."

Jon rolls his eyes at the comment, offering a hand out to the other guy once Theon has left. "Jon Snow."

His eyes alight with recognition at his name and a shy smile shortly follows. “Ah. I’ve heard a lot about you from Robb,” he says in explanation, ”I’m glad to finally put a face to the name. I'm Podrick.”

“Nice to meet you, Podrick," he replies before taking a thoughtful pause. “You know, your name actually sounds familiar,” he lies, thinking quick. He’s never met the guy, never even heard the name, but it wouldn’t be the first time he's looked into the people around Robb to ensure his safety, and most likely not the last time. “I had a client back in Queenscrown with the same name… Podrick... Davidson?”

“Uh… no. Afraid not,” he replies with an awkward smile. “It’s _Payne_.”

"Oh. Huh. Sorry, my bad," he replies with an easy laugh, keeping his cool despite the surprise. "I guess I was wrong."

None of the agencies released the name of Ned Stark's killer to the public, not even to the close family of the victim, so the name _Payne_ wouldn't have raised any red flags to Robb. It alarms Jon, though, so he keeps the conversation going for a while, digging for as much information on the guy as he can. 

He doesn't learn much, just that Podrick works as a paralegal in Robb's firm. He's new in town, moved in just six months before. Jon doesn't know the exact date but he's pretty sure it would coincide with Robert Arryn's untimely demise. This whole thing could just be a coincidence, he grants, but he doesn't believe in that kind of thing in his line of work. Especially when he knows Ilyn Payne went out of hiding right at the time Podrick moved to Winterfell and wormed his way into Robb’s life.

He immediately takes his phone from his pocket to dial Gendry's number once his conversation with Podrick ends; he looks around him, surveying the area carefully to catch anything out of the ordinary. "Hey, G. Are you still at the base?"

"Uh, yeah. Never left, to be honest,” Gendry responds distractedly, and Jon can hear the muted sound of keyboard keys, “The wifi sucks at my apartment so I usually just - " 

""Okay, G. Pause for a second and listen, yeah? I need you to check if Ilyn Payne has any living relatives."

“Oh, uh - yeah, sure. One sec."

Jon hears him typing on his computer again; he tries to be patient as he waits for answers but he feels his anxiety rising when he sees no sign of Robb anywhere as he continues to look around.

"Here, I got it. "Ilyn Payne has just one living relative left, a distant cousin," Gendry lets him know after another minute or so. “Wait, I thought you said you were going on a quick trip home -- why do you want to know this right now?”

Jon ignores the question, shutting his eyes as he tries to think. “Is his name Podrick?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Podrick Payne, twenty-four years old, born and raised in the Westerlands and currently residing somewhere in Winterfell," Gendry answers, confirming his worst suspicions. "There’s not really a lot in his file. Hmm. He went to school in Casterly Rock before getting a full ride to Visenya’s Hill University. He didn’t finish, though. Dropped out in his second year and is currently working at Sapphire Security.”

“Wait. Sapphire Security?” Jon follows up, frowning in confusion. That’s not Robb’s firm. “What do we know about that?"

"Uh… hold on. According to their website it's a private security company owned by a woman named Brienne Tarth. It's only a few years old but they've handled quite a few VIPs -- off the top of the list, Renly Baratheon, the Tyrells, Jaime Lannister. There's a lot more but no one else that stands out. What’s this about?"

Jon takes a calming breath, tries to clear his mind. "I have reason to believe that this Podrick person may be helping his cousin.”

Honestly, Jon doesn't know what to make of the guy; he doesn't seem threatening. If he had to guess, he'd say the guy hasn't seen much combat in his life. Trained, maybe, based on his stance, but doesn't seem like the fighting type. Maybe he's just here to keep an eye on Robb; keep track of his routine, figure out the best way to take him out.

He spots Theon talking to Jeyne Poole a few feet away from him and he moves to approach him immediately. 

"G, I gotta go but I need you to do something else for me. Go to Mormont, tell him what I told you and that I'm asking for a security detail to be placed on Robb Stark. He may be the Butcher’s next target." 

He doesn't wait for Gendry to reply in affirmative before cutting the line off to speak to Theon.

"Hey, T. Have you seen Robb anywhere?"

"Yeah, he stepped inside for a sec, said he might be drunker than he realized. I’d have followed him but I figured I’d give him a minute to breathe." Theon leans in closer to him, lowering his voice when he speaks again. "Something’s off with him -- he said he thought he saw his sister."

"Okay…?” He frowns at that. “I'll go in and check on him then."

Jon immediately heads into the house and finds Robb standing in the living room; he's alone, staring thoughtfully at the framed pictures lined up along the shelf of the fireplace. He breathes out a sigh of relief at the sight of him. 

"Robb. you okay?" He calls aloud, walking towards his best friend slowly.

Robb doesn’t seem to have noticed his arrival until he spoke up; his eyes are cloudy when he turns. "I - uh - I just..." He lets out a shaky breath, runs a hand through his hair. "No, I'm not. I thought I saw my sister. Arya. One of the servers looked a lot like her, fucked my mind up a bit."

Jon’s never met the girl; he's never met any of Robb's family save from his dad and uncle. Jon and his mother moved to Winterfell months after they were gone - died from an accident based on what he later found out. Robb rarely spoke of them and he never wanted to pry.

"A wild little thing, that girl. Dad always said she had wilding blood in her,” Robb tells him distractedly. He turns his attention back to the pictures and Jon follows his gaze to the full family portrait placed at the center of the shelf. “Her fights with Sansa used to annoy me to no end. They argued about the stupidest things and couldn’t go a day without screaming at each other.” He shakes his head. “What I wouldn’t give to have that back.”

“Well...” Jon speaks up slowly, thinking hard for something to say. He’s never been good with words but he tries to find them now. “I know for a fact that your dad would be proud of you, You’re exactly the man he always hoped you would be.”

The corner of his lips lifts into a smile. “He would probably tell me some weird philosophical shit that I wouldn’t understand right about now. And if my mother were here, she would just roll her eyes, pretending she’s not completely amused.by it all. And - ” He cuts himself off, frowning thoughtfully. “I was going to say that my siblings would probably be running around the house, making a mess, but -- they’d be all grown up too, wouldn’t they?”

“Hey, come on now.” He tries to sound cheerful, putting a hand around Robb’s shoulder for comfort. “I never met them but I’m sure they wouldn’t want you to be sad on your own wedding night.”

“Yeah, I know. I just… I wish they could be here.” Robb lets out a sigh before shaking his head as if to clear his mind. He turns to Jon with a rueful smile. "See, this is why I need you back in Winterfell."


	2. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes alight on her immediately, her movement smooth and sultry, with an elegance to her every step. She’s hard to miss and Jon finds it difficult to tear his gaze away from her as she approached the bar. She takes the stool a few seats from him, flagging the bartender for a drink without even sparing him a single glance.
> 
> "Good evening, Mya," she greets the bartender cheerfully, her smile as pretty as everything else about her seems to be. 

Since Jon was technically supposed to start his vacation before Mormont told him about the Arryn case, he was given permission to attend Robb's wedding if he agreed to head back as soon as it ended. 

It's understandable since he has a lot to do in preparation for the mission but after recent discoveries, he feels uncomfortable leaving Winterfell without first making sure that his best friend is protected. According to Gendry, the security detail was dispatched quickly after his request, so all there's left to do is to keep an eye out as he waits for them to arrive.

He rises from his bed, wide awake and alert as he walks towards the window. He stays clear of it, leaning against the wall as he slides the curtain just an inch to get a look of the outside. Call him paranoid but Robb is the last remaining family he has left and the last thing he wants is to lose him, too. He's not sure what trick The Butcher is trying to pull but he will make sure the guy doesn't succeed. His best friend has already lost so much. The least Jon can do is make sure he doesn't suffer more than he already has.

Just as he steps away from the windows, he hears the floorboards creak outside his door. He tries to listen carefully, hears the light footsteps descend down the stairs. He frowns before glancing at his watch to check the time.

4:43. 

He reaches for the duffel he'd left by the foot of his bed, takes it before making his way down himself. The first floor is dark and quiet, the only light peeking in from the kitchen. He leaves his bag by the door before entering and he finds Robb making himself coffee by the kitchen counter. His hair is a mess, eyes thick with sleep. 

Robb notices him after a moment, eyebrows arching up at the state of him. He’s changed out of his suit and into his spare shirt and jeans, and Robb must already know what this means. 

"I thought you were staying the week?"

"Something came up at work," he answers sheepishly, trying to be as vague as possible. "I have to get back by today to settle it."

As far as Robb and everyone else in Winterfell knows, he works in sales at a company in Bear Island. It's nowhere close to the truth and while he feels shitty lying about it, it's all he can do to not make them worry.

"Do you at least have time for coffee?"Jon nods by way of answering as he slips into the counter stool. "Sucks that you're leaving already. Theon and I had this whole plan for your stay this time."

"What plan?"

Robb's lips quirk up in amusement as he moves to grab another mug from the cupboard. "Well, we wanted to set you up with this girl Talisa works with at the clinic. We figured if we find you someone, you'd be more inclined to stay."

Jon shakes his head. "I'm not looking for anyone."

"We thought it'd be worth a try, anyway," he replies with a shrug, then turns to Jon with narrowed eyes. "Theon thinks someone's already waiting for you up north. Is there? It would explain why you're always so eager to head back."

Jon shakes his head. "Nah, just my job. I don't have time for all that."

Maintaining a relationship in his line of work is already difficult as it is; his friends often complained about him missing important life events, he can't imagine adding yet another person to disappoint. He's tried the whole dating thing and failed, found it more trouble than it's worth. 

He's constantly unavailable and has to keep secrets for the sake of his job. It would be an unfair situation to anyone so he figures it's better to just avoid forming new romantic relationships altogether. He doesn't really want to discuss that, though, so he steers the conversation elsewhere.

"I heard about what happened to your cousin," he says hesitantly, watching Robb carefully. "The one in the Eyrie. Arryn?"

He's got another cousin up in Riverrun, a boy of ten if Jon remembers correctly. He doesn't really keep up with any of his extended family and Jon can't recall him ever mentioning them. Still, he figures it wouldn't hurt to dig for information if possible since it could help him greatly with his new case.

"The news reached you that far North?" Robb asks him in surprise, handing him his coffee.

"Things are pretty uneventful in a small town," he explains nonchalantly, though he's not entirely sure the news was broadcasted in Bear Island. "Makes it easier to keep up with the rest of the world."

"Well, I can't say I know much more than you do." Robb takes a sip of his drink and Jon can just tell from the look on his face that he's recalling a sour memory. "Last time my dad and I heard from any of them was at the funeral -- way before you moved here." He takes a shaky breath, this dark emotion crossing his face. "I'm sure you've heard some version of the story."

"Not really," Jon admits. He never liked listening to gossip and he always felt uncomfortable whenever he heard speculations about how Robb's mother and siblings died, so he tended to stay away. "You don't have to tell me, though. Not if you don't want to."

Robb shakes his head. "It's fine. It happened so long ago, I don't even really remember it. Just bits and pieces." He pauses for a second then blows out a breath. "Well, anyway, that summer before you came, my family went up at the Eyrie to visit my aunt and cousin. We stayed maybe a month or so but Dad and I flew home early. I don't remember why. But, uh, yeah, the rest of the family were gonna follow in a few days or so but next thing we knew, their plane crashed in the middle of the ocean and... and they were just gone." 

No matter how many times Jon had thought of it before, he still can't imagine how it must have been for Robb. Only thirteen, oldest of five children, suddenly all alone. It was months after meeting him that Jon even found out that he'd lost nearly all his family; he always acted so tough and carefree, always laughing and smiling, like nothing was wrong in the world. The longer he got to know him, the easier it was to see through the facade.

"My aunt was probably one of the last people who saw any of them," Robb continues, rolls his eyes in recollection. "She never even attended the funeral, she just sent flowers with this note that just said 'condolences' or something, as if it wasn't her own family that died."

Jon's quiet as he absorbs all this, the scene playing out in his head. He's not sure why Robb is telling him this now when he's never really spoken about it before but then he never really asked. It's not that he didn't care enough to do so, it's that he clearly sees the pain in Robb's eyes everytime the conversation would come up. He wouldn't even have brought up Robert Arryn's death if he knew of the sour history there.

"Twenty-two, though. That's so young," Robb lets out with a sigh, "I still remember Robin as a snooty eight year old who always made my baby brother cry. He constantly pissed me off but... he was a kid, you know? I can't imagine why anyone would want to kill him literally."

Jon keeps his theories to himself but Robb's mention of mother and son is plenty for him to get an idea of their character. Nearly fifteen years is a long time, however, and Robb's memory as a child can be fallible, so it's possible they're very different people from how he remembers them. Whether that's a good thing or bad is yet to be determined by Jon.

"Did you reach out after it happened?" he asks, though he already knows the answer. It wouldn't have mattered if Robb wasn't particularly fond of any of them. They were still his relatives and he was raised better than to just ignore that.

He shrugs. "Tried, at least. Jory contacted my aunt's second husband but we never heard back. Figured I wasn't welcome."

Jon wonders about what could've transpired to sever the tie between their family. Robb was young when it all happened, it's likely that his father never told him if there were other issues. 

It's not long before his phone vibrates in his pocket with a message from Gendry letting him know that the security detail he'd requested has arrived. It also means that his extraction is already waiting to bring him back to the base.

He glances back at Robb and clears his throat. "What are you doing up this early, by the way?" 

He was hoping for a clean getaway. He hates when he has to do this.

"Believe it or not, I expected you to pull a trick like this. You're not hard to read, Jon," he says with a smirk before nodding towards his phone, "I take it that's your cue to leave?"

Jon reaches for the back of his neck. " Uh, yeah. I, uh, booked a ride." He rises from his seat by the counter. "I'm sorry I can't stay for longer. Tell your wife I said goodbye?"

Robb's lips pull up at the word  _ wife _ , nodding in confirmation. "Yeah, I'll tell her. Don't worry about it."

Robb sets his coffee down before walking over to him for a hug. "You take care, alright? And make sure next time you come here, you'll stay for more than a day."

Jon gives him a sheepish smile. "I will, I promise."

Sunlight is already starting to peek from a distance when he makes his way out of the estate, the subdivision still quiet with only a few people roaming around the street in the early hours of the morning. 

He spots a few people heading into their cars for work, others out on a jog or walking their dogs, and he can’t help but wonder which of them are the operatives assigned to Robb. He hopes they're competent enough for the job, but he doesn't try to spot them. They'd be no one he knows and much as he wants to warn them to take care of his best friend, he knows it's better they all, him included, keep their identities guarded.

Jon walks a couple blocks from the subdivision to this old condominium building near Winter Town where an old black sedan is waiting upfront for him. He slides into the backseat without a word and the driver pulls out of the side of the street with no further acknowledgement.

He touches base a few hours after noon and he wastes no time setting his affairs in order. His first stop is at the Med Wing to visit the agency’s physician.

"You know I'm opposed to this, don't you?" Sam asks as soon as Jon enters his office, his brows curved in disapproval. "Your shoulder hasn't even healed all the way yet."

Jon tries not to roll his eyes in exasperation; he and Sam were recruited into the Watch around the same time and were both trained under the supervision of Allister Thorne, so they’d formed an unlikely friendship pretty early on. Jon considers the man one of his best friends, as Sam does him, so he's not surprised to find the guy wary of his new mission.

"Mormont asked you to clear me?" He hazards a guess, basing it all on Sam’s unhappy expression.

"That's one way of putting it," he says with a scoff. "Forced might be a better word."

"Sam, my shoulder's fine. It barely even hurts anymore and it wasn't even a critical injury to begin with. It's nothing I can't handle, I promise," he insists before shifting gears when he sees that his friend is not buying it, "You don't even have to clear me for combat. I’m just going to be on recon and I'll be out before the cavalry sweeps in."

"It's not just about that and you know it. This is very risky, Jon -- going in without a cover?" Sam shakes his head. "If you get made, that'll be the end of your career as an operative."

"It won't come to that," Jon says with a sigh. Sam shouldn't even know the details of his mission but he supposes being married to the Head of Disguise Department has its benefits. "Besides, there's no way I'm failing this mission. You know I have to do this, Sam. You know I do."

His friend stares at him for a long while, his expression a mix of worry and disapproval. Finally, he lets out a sigh and leads him into the clinic to undergo routine checkup. It's hours before he's even satisfied enough with Jon's results to clear him for the mission and by then it's already too late to get anything else done. Instead of heading back to his apartment to rest, though, he heads up to the office to do a bit more research before he has to leave the following day.

His objective is to get to Harry Hardyng, infiltrate his inner circle, and gain his trust enough to discover who may have had contact with Ilyn Payne. It"s not easy but he'll make it work somehow. In order to do that, he needs to be prepared. He needs to identify every important person in Hardyng's life and how he can use them to get to him.

First he reads up on the Waynwoods, Harry's adoptive family. There's not much that stands out there; Anya Waynwood, the family's matriarch, is an elderly woman who seems fond of Hardyng. She's got children of her own, three sons and three daughters, all much older and more qualified than Hardyng, yet she still appointed him as the head of the family company. 

Further reading shows that Ironoaks nearly went bankrupt before Hardyng took over at the helm, which could explain his appointment. Perhaps he helped salvage the company and was rewarded accordingly. 

Next, Jon opens the file on Hardyng's girlfriend, Alayne Stone. He has to pause at the picture that pops up on his screen; she seems oddly familiar to him, unable to shake the feeling that he's seen her somewhere before. On a commercial, maybe, or on a magazine? She definitely has the look for it. 

Her dark brown hair is long and wavy, falling over her shoulder smoothly. She's got bright blue eyes, her gaze sharp and intimidating even from just the picture, but she also has a soft and bright smile that undermines her fearsome gaze.  _ Beautiful _ , Jon thinks as he takes in her features. He's pretty sure he'd remember meeting someone like her.

He flips to the next page which details her life. Alayne Stone grew up at the Fingers in a town called Drearford. She's an orphan, no living relatives tied to her name. She maintained good grades all throughout high school and was accepted into the Red Keep University on scholarship. She majored in business and was later hired at one of the Arryn companies. 

It must've been how she met Harry, Jon assumes as he tries to fill in the blanks. Perhaps they fell in love and gave each other a semblance of a family that they never had? 

He moves on to a few more people after that, reading up on Hardyng's close friends, business partners, and company executives. Nothing raises a red flag but he commits all their names to memory in case he can use it later on. He's so absorbed with his task that he doesn't even realize the time until Gilly sends a text asking him to head to her lab.

He logs off of the database before heading to the next building over to meet Gilly. She's in charge of the disguise department, responsible for keeping operatives' identities well-guarded, so he was already expecting some sort of makeover from her. He can’t deny that his appearance does need work after he'd spent a pretty rough year undercover in Hardhome. 

Gilly's sitting by her desk when he arrives, with Sam Jr. on her lap as he munches on mashed fruit. They both perk up upon his entry and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of his adorable godson. 

"How was the wedding?" Gilly asks fondly, rising from her seat to greet him.

"It went well. Thanks for helping me buy the gift, by the way. The bride and groom loved it." He takes Sam Jr from her grasp and starts bouncing him up on his arms, babbling nonsensically to try and get the little guy to laugh. "Hey, pup, you miss me?"

Jon's seen him just a few days ago when he came over for dinner at the Tarlys’ but he still can’t wrap his mind around how much the boy has grown since the last time he saw him.

"It must've been disappointing to cut your trip short," Gilly says as she makes her way back to her desk. "Your friends took it well?"

"They're probably too used to it by now," he replies distractedly, pressing a kiss to Sam Jr’s cheek before turning to his mother. "What do you have for me?"

Gilly hands him the envelope on top of her desk before taking Sam Jr back from him. He opens the package and finds the documents he'll be using for the mission. 

It's strange to read his name on the papers but that's about the only  _ real _ thing about it; most of the information written on the files have been embellished to make him look a certain way. Passport that shows him travelling a lot from Essos and back, documents that lists a very short list of work history. 

Based on the file, he gives off a very carefree vibe, maybe even a bit of immaturity there. He's not someone to take too seriously, it seems to say, which is most likely the goal so Harry's camp would think he's easy to fool and most definitely easy to use.

The door inside one of Gilly's labs opens and out comes a man dressed in a pilot uniform. It takes Jon a full minute to realize it's actually Gendry. He looks nothing like himself, his dark hair concealed under a blond wig, his face covered with thick facial hair, and his forehead creased with wrinkles. 

It's a good disguise since they'd be travelling together to the Vale but he looks about twenty years older than he actually is which is hilarious to Jon. 

He couldn't help but laugh out loud and all Gendry can do is scoff and give him a dirty look. "I wish yours turns out worse."

Gilly hasn’t told him the specifics but he's pretty sure she's going to let him keep his appearance as close to reality as he can, considering he's essentially going as himself.

He's both right and wrong, he learns. Gilly's team doesn't do anything as drastic as they'd done with Gendry. They cut his hair to a much shorter length, trims his beard the way he usually keeps it, but then they slick his hair back with pomade to give his face a lot more definition, making him look more sophisticated than he actually is. 

He scrunches his nose in discomfort, not feeling like himself. Then again, he's not supposed to look like himself, but to be a version of himself that fits in with the likes of Harry Hardyng.

Once they're done with him, Gilly makes him change into a suit she'd bought specifically for him. He looks himself over the mirror wearing a dark blue polo over a black slim fit suit, his pants a bit tight but comfortable, and a pair of expensive-looking loafers.

"I bought you a lot of suits like this. You can't go wrong with these because they're pretty easy to mix and match," Gilly explains to him, unbuttoning the top buttons of his polo and smoothing her hands over the lapel. "I also bought a few formal wear just in case. I put them in a separate luggage so don't worry about confusing them with each other. Just make sure to wear them appropriately, okay?"

He nods dutifully, trying to remember her instructions well. Jon's not used to wearing suits. He's a tshirt and jeans kind of guy, doesn't really have a lot of talent when it comes to fashion, so all this is pretty overwhelming. 

He finds Gendry waiting for him at the lounge once he’s finished and they head to the Hangar bay together. Edd Tolett, a Night's Watch pilot, is already waiting for them by the gate. He gives Jon a onceover, amusement clear in his eyes, but he thankfully doesn't comment on it. 

Edd leads them inside and Gendry whistles as soon as he spots the private jet in the hangar, which easily stands out among the old and dreary fleet of aircraft owned by the Night's Watch. 

The jet looks big enough to room maybe over a hundred people but from the inside, it seats only up to six. There's a dining table near the pilot's door, as well as a long sofa if anyone needs rest. Then there's a private room on the other end, outfitted to be a bedroom for one. Jon's never set foot in anything so luxurious before and he feels his stomach churn with discomfort.

"The agency's really going all out for this mission, huh," G comments appreciatively as he takes one of the many free seats inside. He presses a button on the side of his chair and it automatically reclines. "I didn't think they'd have the budget."

"They don't," Jon comments off-handedly before settling on the seat opposite Gendry. 

"Dude," Gendry says, slow and bewildered when he realizes what Jon had just said. "How rich are you?"

He’s tempted to ignore the question, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "I'm not rich," he answers, which isn't strictly a lie.

Jon had never been called rich before; he and his mother barely scraped by when he was growing up. They lived in a tiny apartment in Wintertown that took up most of his mother's income working as a waitress at their local diner. Jon, from the age of fifteen, had been working multiple different jobs part-time just to help out. The first time he lived at an actual house was after his mother’s death when Ned Stark took him and he started living with Robb at the Stark estate. 

It's a few years after he joined the Night's Watch that he received a letter informing him of his biological father's death and that he's set to inherit a large sum of money as well as a share of the  _ family _ company. 

Jon has only seen his father a few times when he was younger. He used to visit them back when he and his mom still lived in Dorne. The visits came rare and stopped altogether after a while. He figured the man was either a deadbeat or dead and he thought he was better off not knowing either way.

He's never touched a single cent of his inheritance, never even checked how much he got. He didn't need his father's money then and he doesn't need it now. He didn't try to figure out what to do with it, either. He hoped it would just disappear on its own somehow and mostly just didn't acknowledge even having it, but since it’s still there, he supposes the best way to use it is by bringing justice to the death of the man who actually treated him like a son.

  
  


They arrive at the Vale after half a day's journey, most of which he spent completely knocked out on his chair. He hasn't had a good night's sleep since he got his assignment, doubts it would improve anytime soon. By the time he wakes up, the sky has already gone dark and he can see from the plane window as they made their descent just how lively the Vale looks with lights glowing all around the city, from high up in the mountains and down below.

Jon turns to gendry as soon as Edd announces that they've landed. "I guess this is where we go our own ways, yeah?"

Gendry raises his hand for a peace sign, which looks even more ridiculous with his disguise. "Reach out as soon as you can."

"Will do," he answers, rising from his seat. He takes his sling bag from the compartment above before heading out of the jet. "You take care, alright?"

The airport is pretty crowded when he reaches the terminal but he doesn't linger for long, he takes a cab directly to the Moon's Door Hotel, which he knows is owned by the Arryn group. 

He's not expecting to find Hardyng there anytime soon; based on intel, that’s where he’s been staying since taking over the company but he's currently out on business and he won't be back until after a few days. Still, it won't hurt to get a look around in the meantime, familiarize himself with the East and whatnot.

The drive from the airport is pretty quick; the cab takes him to the hotel in under half an hour. Moon's Door is known to be the most luxurious hotel in the Vale and Jon sees this clearly as soon as he steps foot in front of it.

He did his research beforehand in preparation for the trip so he knows all three towers overlooking him are seventy storey high, with different functions each. The first tower is the hotel, while the other two is the area of operations for the different businesses Arryn Group had dived into in recent years. 

He heads into the first tower and It's as if he's entered a new world as soon as he passes through the front door. The hotel lobby takes up the entire first floor, the ceiling about twenty feet high, with bifurcated stairs across the entrance. The motif seems to be silver and blue, with a very modern feel to the decor. A part of him is glad that while he had to cancel his vacation, he can at least spend it somewhere so grand. 

He walks over to the front desk, channeling Theon Greyjoy in his every movement. His friend always walked with an air of confidence in his steps and a self-assuredness that Jon never knew where he got. He finds that it's somewhat easier to slip into character when he's basing it on someone he already knows.

The man at the front desk is a tall and slim man named Olyvar. He’s polite but distant, though his demeanor quickly changes as soon as Jon provides his identification. He was friendly before but his smile brightens tenfold as he reads Jon's name out loud. 

"Mr. Targaryen. We've been expecting you, sir. Welcome to the Moon Door Hotel," he greets brightly, a theatrical tone to his voice. He processes Jon's documents quickly, then explains to him some of the hotel's amenities, most of which he already knew.

Jon still listens with interest, discreetly trying to get a feel for the man’s character. He knows from years of experience going undercover that the easiest way to gather intel is through employees. They know the protocols best, know all the executives, and more often than not, have all the dirt on them -- especially the nasty ones.

Before Olyvar can call for a porter to direct him to his room, he leans over the desk to speak. "Where can I find the bar?"

The night is young, as many people his age would say. There's plenty that could happen and he's sure Olyvar will make sure to let the right people know where he is. This entire operation is banking on his father's name to pass as a ticket through their golden gates so he might as well help spread the news faster.

"Well, sir, we offer drinks at the restaurant on the ninth floor. Your penthouse suite, of course, has its own bar, if you'd like to dine in private," he lists down politely, "But if you prefer something more scenic, our rooftop bar on the seventieth floor is open from 7pm to 7am. I'm sure you'd love it. I can assure you that the view is incredible."

He nods, gives the man a crooked smile. "You've been very helpful, Olyvar." He dishes out a hundred bucks out of his inner pocket and hands it to him. "Have someone send my things up to my room, if you don't mind?"

He doesn't wait for a response, merely turns without another glance before heading towards the elevator. As he has been previously assured, the view is indeed magnificent. The Moon's Door, though not known to be as impressive as most hotels in other parts of Westeros, sits atop the Vale's tallest mountain, which does provide a clear view of the Narrow Sea and the city just below them.

The rooftop bar takes up nearly the entire floor, the whole area lit up by blue and red neon lights in a bid to make it look youthful and hip. it's divided into three areas, from what he can tell. An area for dancing, and area to play drinking games, and an area to relax at the tables with friends. The entire place seems like it can house a pretty large crowd so it doesn't feel crowded even with about sixty or so guests already gathered there. He tries to spot anyone he could recognize among the people there but none of them stand out. Most of them there are around his age, some even younger, all dressed to the nines.

Jon situates himself by the bar as soon as he arrives, orders a glass of whiskey for himself as he takes another look around. He's not much of a drinker and he usually prefers the northern ale to anything else, but he had spent over a year stuck in Hardhome where the only drink strong enough to keep him warm was a sour goat's milk fermented by his friend and ally, Tormund Giantsbane. It's a nastry drink, stronger than any liquor he'd ever tasted, and he's pretty confident he can drink anything after a taste of that.

"Your drink, sir," the bartender reels him out of his thoughts and he’s just about to strike up a conversation with her when he spots a woman walking towards him from the direction of the elevator. 

His eyes alight on her immediately, her movement smooth and sultry, with an elegance to her every step. She’s hard to miss and Jon finds it difficult to tear his gaze away from her as she approached the bar. She takes the stool a few seats from him, flagging the bartender for a drink without even sparing him a single glance.

"Good evening, Mya," she greets the bartender cheerfully, her smile as pretty as everything else about her seems to be. 

"I haven’t seen you here in awhile,” the bartender - Mya - replies conversationally, a smile on her face. “You want the same drink as usual?"

"Yes, please."

"On me," Jon pipes in, tries not to look uncomfortable as he does so. He's never so forward. He offers a hand out to the woman, acting cool and above it all. "Name's Jon Targaryen."

She tilts her head towards him, as if only noticing him there. Her lips tilt up in amusement, glancing at his offered hand for a moment before taking it.

"Pleasure," she replies, gesturing to the free seat on her side.

Jon does as she implies, downs his drink before moving over next to her. "I'm pretty sure this is the part where you tell me your name."

"Is that so?" She quirks her eyebrow at him, no intention of giving into him. 

A smile slips onto his face, playing along. "Mind if I take a guess?"

She lifts her shoulder disinterestedly, though she does offer him a pretty smile as he tries to come up with a good guess.

"Hm. Alright, let me think," he says slowly, somewhat teasing. He's pretty sure his friends would say something cheesy, like  _ angel  _ or  _ princess _ . A beautiful girl like her, Jon's pretty sure she's heard all that countless times before. He looks at her with narrowed eyes, pretends to study her carefully as she sips her drink. "Okay, I think I got it."

"You think so?"

He nods, can’t help but smile again as he says it. "Maximus."

The laugh that escapes her is warm and melodic, and lasts no longer than a moment before she catches herself. "That was spot on," she congratulates him playfully, her smile teasing. "It's almost like you're psychic."

He offers her a self-indulgent smile. "I guess I'm just that good."

They keep a casual conversation for a while, the one drink turning to two, then three. She seems to like lemons, or at least she doesn't wince each time she bites on the piece of lemon slice on the side of her glass. She's fun to talk to, he finds. She's smart, charming, sharp. Her humor is dark and sarcastic. And she seems to see right through his bullshit but plays along anyway, as if trying to figure out what game he's playing while he tries to figure out hers at the same time. 

Their conversation is only disrupted when her phone rings suddenly. He takes a glance at her caller ID before she notices and sees the name  _ father  _ written on top.

_ Curious _ , he thinks as he downs another glass of whiskey.

"Sorry about that,” she apologizes after her return from the call, smiling sweetly at him. “I'm organizing this big company event thing and I just received some last minute reminders,"

"Sounds important," he comments idly before flagging Mya again. "Does that mean you have to go?"

She bites her bottom lip thoughtfully, looking at him as if she's trying to decide if he's worth her time. "I guess one more round wouldn't hurt."

He lets a smile slip onto his face as he orders another round of drinks for them both. 

"So, you live here, right?" He asks as their drinks are being made, easing into asking to meet her again. "Any advice for a first-timer? What's there to see here in the Vale? Anything exciting?" 

"Depends on what you're looking for," she says easily, thanking Mya before she takes her drink from the counter to take a sip.

He considers her statement carefully, rolling the whiskey around his glass as he tries to think of the best answer. They've been playing this game all night, flirting, reeling each other in. It's been working so far but he doubts it'll lead him anywhere if he keeps up this shallow facade; people like to have something real to connect to.

"I guess I'm just really looking for some peace of mind," he admits truthfully. It's probably the most honest thing he's said to her all night and he can tell that she's thinking the same thing. He takes a deep breath before shifting gears again, offering her a small, playful smile. "You offer any of that around here?"

"Don't I wish," she replies before finishing her drink. She tilts her head sideways, thoughtful. "I can offer you something nearly as good."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "Escape. What are you doing tomorrow night?"

His eyebrows quirk up in intrigue; that was supposed to be his line. "I guess you'll tell me."

She slides around her chair to stand up. "Meet me at the lobby tomorrow around six and you can find out for yourself."

She doesn't wait for his answer, doesn’t offer him a goodbye, doesn't even spare him another glance. It makes him grin, this small amused sound escaping his lips as he follows after her.

"When I see you again tomorrow, what do I call you?" He asks, all playful and unabashed even as a few patrons turn to them in interest. 

She glances at him again, amused, her lips forming a practiced smile. "Call me Alayne."


	3. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you been waiting long?" 
> 
> She leans over his chair as she says the words once she reaches him, mirroring his nonchalance, but she nearly stumbles back when he turns to face her. With his face so close, she can see how long his lashes are and just how gray his eyes truly are. He’s handsome, she thinks but she doesn’t let the thought linger.
> 
> "I just got here, actually," he answers, offering her an easy smile. "You here to take me away?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baeless comes with his own warning hehe.
> 
> PS Made a little [poster](https://theshipshipper.tumblr.com/post/626974480006365184/strings-that-bind-us-a-jonsa-spy-au-chapters) for this fic if ya want to check it out.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

As soon as the elevator door opens to the lobby, Sansa finds Lothor Brune already waiting for her. He's standing on a corner almost like a statue, his eyes the only indication that he isn’t. He leaves his spot only when he sees her walking out of the elevator, falling into step behind her as she heads towards the main door.

As she already expected, there's a slick black car waiting for her out front. Lothor speeds past her to open the door and let her in and she does her best to keep her face impassive as she approaches the vehicle, discreetly taking a deep breath to prepare herself before carefully sliding into the backseat.

"I could have gone home on my own," she says in an even tone, feigning coolness towards the man on the opposite end of the car. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

"Mr. Brune tells me the Targaryen boy seemed taken with you," he says, disregarding her statement completely.

"Was he? He's only just met me."

She keeps her gaze locked on the window, mindful not to turn to him as they pull away from the hotel, expression as stoic as can be. _Some animals you shouldn't look in the eye._

Interacting with Petyr Baelish feels like a difficult game more often than not. She can sense him testing her at every turn, challenging her loyalties. Some days it all feels too much and she wants to just run away from it all, but even if she figures out a way to do it, she knows it won't just end after that; so long as he lives there's no chance he’ll ever let her go. 

Petyr lets out a laugh, making her turn to face him. “Oh, my dear Alayne. A smile from you and anyone would be falling at your feet." His gaze instantly falls to her lips, lingering there far longer than is comfortable but she has to wait for him to turn away before she does the same. "What did you think of him?"

She considers the question carefully, thinking back to the man she’d met just hours previous; Petyr was the one who instructed her to approach Jon Targaryen in the first place so the question doesn’t come as a surprise. 

“He seemed arrogant, over-confident, self-indulgent," she lists off dispassionately, careful not to reveal her dishonesty. 

Petyr is good at finding out when someone’s lying to him so she’s had to get good at hiding it. What she just said seems true on the surface, anyway. As far as she could tell, it's what Jon Targaryen wanted her to believe, with his easy smiles and careless attitude. It’s not to say he’s unconvincing, he definitely plays his part well, she just has the advantage of knowing better than she would let on. She played along only because she wanted to know his agenda, preferably before Petyr discovered it himself.

"I want you to keep him close," Petyr instructs her thoughtfully, leaving no room for refusal. Again, it’s nothing she isn’t already expecting. "Figure out what his ambitions are and see if it'll be of any use to us."

She turns to look at him, considering her next words carefully before speaking. It's useless to try to figure out just what exactly goes on in that frightening head of his but she'll use whatever advantage she has to get a glimpse.

"I don't understand what we need him for," she decides to say, playing to the silly little girl image she knows he still has of her. The confused crease between her brows, the expectant look in her eyes -- he can never say no to the satisfaction of showing her just how clever he thinks he is. "I thought we already had a plan?"

Sansa doesn’t show it but the smile that takes over his face terrifies her somewhat; she doesn't need him to start rubbing his hands together like an evil villain to know that whatever springs up his mind can't be any good. 

"Having a Targaryen in our midst changes things," he tells her as he extends a hand to her cheek, "I told you I'd give you the North. With a Targaryen in our grasp, I can give you the entire world."

She never knows how to respond to promises like these; she wonders how it went from him swearing to give her family justice, to this. A part in him must know how absurd he sounds but she doubts it matters to him as long as he’s got the upper hand over her.

"This is all for you, sweetling. You know that, don't you?" He asks, tilting her head so she’s forced to meet his eyes.

She lets one of her practiced smiles slip onto her lips and this seems to satisfy him, leaning in to press a kiss on the corner of her mouth. It’s quick and barely there but it still takes all her effort to keep from flinching away. He's gotten bolder and bolder since her Aunt Lysa's death, she worries that it'll only get worse.

She breathes in through her nose, tries for another smile to hide her discomfort. "Of course I do."

It isn't long before they finally arrive at her apartment complex and she's once again glad to have had the forethought to rent out a place close to the hotel. Petyr likes to steal moments like this from her but she refuses to make it easy for him. 

Sansa lets out a breath of relief only once she's finally in the safety of her apartment; she leans against the door after shutting it behind her, resting her head against it with her eyes closed, affording herself even just a short moment of peace and quiet. She takes a few deep breaths, the image of home and a family lost to her flashing in her mind, and it’s enough to remind her why she’s doing this. She can’t have any of it back, she knows, but she can make sure that the people who took it all from her pays for it.

She kicks off her heels and sets it aside, hangs her coat on the rack, leaves her bag on the couch, then heads to her bathroom to freshen up. All the while her mind is on Jon Targaryen, trying to figure out exactly how he fits into the puzzle. Petyr thinks he can use him but she can't understand how. 

Jon may be a Targaryen but he's a third child and an illegitimate one besides. He doesn't have a strong claim to his family's assets, probably doesn't even have a say on executive decisions. Maybe Petyr thinks he can use him to get to his brother, Aegon, or perhaps he wants to sow discord between the two and have them turn against each other. It’s a definite possibility, she thinks. It would explain why Petyr wants her to figure out Jon's weaknesses. He wants to know the best way to exploit it, to find a way to wrap Jon around his _littlefinger_ like he did the Waynewoods. Like he does everyone else.

Sansa buries her face in the palm of her hands, exhaustion and frustration taking over her. There's so many layers to Petyr's plans that she doesn't even know how to begin unearthing it. And even if she does, what is she supposed to do after? He never gets his own hands dirty, there's always someone else who ends up taking the fall.

She takes a deep breath, tries to calm her mind. She'll have to go through this one step at a time. First, she'll meet with Jon Targaryen tomorrow, figure out what kind of person he is. She's hoping he'll be unsusceptible to Petyr's tactics so she won't have to deal with him at all but if he isn't then she'd prefer to have a head start at figuring out how to handle him.

She retires to bed sometime after that, fully aware that there's nothing more she can do in the night. Her sleep, as usual, is restless. She can't ever relax enough to properly doze off. It always feels as if she's being watched, like even falling into slumber is no escape. When she wakes up early in the morning, she feels no less tired than the night before. 

Resigned to the fact, she heads into the bathroom to begin preparing for her day, following the same tedious routine she's had since moving to the Eyrie a couple years ago. 

When she sees herself through her bathroom mirror, it's a stranger's face that greets her. Her eyes are cold and cunning, her edges sharp and dangerous. Steel to the bones and no trace of the person she was before.

She arrives at the hotel two hours later, taking a cab on her way there since she’d left her car the night before. She heads to one of the function rooms as soon as she arrives and finds Myranda Royce already waiting for her.

In a month’s time, Arryn Group will be holding one of the biggest events in the Vale in preparation for Harry’s official appointment as the new Chairman of the board. There will be many prominent businessmen and politicians in attendance. Needless to say, everything has to go smoothly, but while it's Randa's job as their inhouse event organizer, it’s Alayne’s job to coordinate with her to make sure everything goes according to Petyr’s plans.

Since they’re only starting with the preparations, the planning takes up most of her day. She was already expecting it but It doesn’t make her any less relieved once she finally finishes up with the team. 

She's surprised with the eagerness with which she moves to get to the hotel lobby afterwards, realizing only then how much she’s actually been looking forward to meeting Jon again. It’s not him, really. It’s merely the freedom he can afford her for a short time.

She finds him sitting on one of the lounge chairs, dressed in a white shirt underneath a brown overcoat. He seems more casual than the night before. Or so he appears to be. He’s got his legs crossed, an arm slung over the back of the chair as he reads some magazine he must’ve taken from the coffee table just in front of him.

"Have you been waiting long?" 

She leans over his chair as she says the words once she reaches him, mirroring his nonchalance, but she nearly stumbles back when he turns to face her. With his face so close, she can see how long his lashes are and just how gray his eyes truly are. _He’s handsome_ , she thinks but she doesn’t let the thought linger.

"I just got here, actually," he answers, offering her an easy smile. "You here to take me away?"

"Yeah. Are you ready to go?"

He nods before rising from his seat without further questions. As soon as they exit through the main door, however, Alayne sees Lothor standing right by her car. She nearly turns to check if Petyr’s lurking on a corner somewhere nearby, possibly watching her, before she remembers that he would be busy overseeing everything at the Central Tower while Harry's away on _business_.

"Ms. Stone," Lothor greets upon their approach. "I've been instructed to accompany you today." 

She frowns, her confusion genuine. Petyr likes to pretend to give her the freedom to do whatever she wants so she’s not expecting him to pull something like this. Besides, he's the one who told her to get close to Jon Targaryen in the first place, surely he knows that having his lap dog stalking them the entire night wouldn't be an ideal set up. 

It must be for show, then, she thinks. It's not like Petyr even really needs Lothor to keep track of her movements. He can already do that by tapping into her GPS like he usually does. He must want to plant the idea that she's someone important and to elevate her status in Jon's eyes.

"I'm sure my father can find better things for you to do," she says, testing her theory. "I'm not a child. I can take care of myself."

She waits for his response as she would an exam, hoping she'd said the right thing and fearful of making a mistake. A mistake would cost her and Petyr never forgets to collect. Thankfully, Lothor doesn't insist on tagging along further before stepping away from her car. He does intercept Jon, though, stepping into his space to deliver a message Petyr must want to be passed along. 

"What's your name, _boy_?" Lothor asks with a menacing tone, his posture tall and threatening.

Jon seems unfazed by the act, almost as if he doesn't take it seriously. "Jon Targaryen. Who’s asking, exactly?”

Lothor grabs him by the collar, pulling him close with a warning. "Listen here, boy. Anything bad happens to Ms. Stone, you're the first one I hunt down."

She lets out an exasperated sigh, feigning irritation. "Are you done now?"

Lothor steps away finally, offering her a stiff nod before walking away. She rolls her eyes before jumping into her car followed by Jon, and she waits until they've pulled away before chancing a glance at him.

"Sorry about that. It's my father's doing, he can be a bit overprotective sometimes," she says in explanation, filling in the blanks of what she thinks Petyr would want her to say. 

"No worries. It’s good that your dad's looking out for you," he says with a shrug.

“I guess,” she replies belatedly, her tone not convincing. She’s well-versed at playing the grateful child to Petyr but sometimes the thought makes her feel sick. “I mean… it just feels too much sometimes, to be honest.”

Jon nods in understanding. “No, I get it. It must be suffocating to have someone watching you all the time like that, even if it’s well-intended.”

“Exactly. Yeah,” she says, feigning embarrassment at not catching on sooner. “Of course you get it, you’re a Targaryen. Your father must be the exact same way, if not more overbearing.”

“Actually, he wasn’t,” he admits with an awkward laugh. “Or at least I wouldn’t know if he was. I didn't grow up with him around."

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize -”

“It’s fine. It’s not like it made much difference to me growing up,” he says, his words coming easy. Yet she can still sense the defensiveness in his tone. “I had people who cared about me and that was enough.”

Petyr has already told her as much before he even arrived. He was raised by a single mother, the two of them moved North when he was younger. There’s no clear evidence that his father, Rhaegar Targaryen, was involved in his upbringing outside of sending monetary allowance every few months. Sansa assumes Petyr wants to get a clear picture of how involved The Targaryens truly were in his life, maybe to see how much work needs to be done to bring him on top of the family ladder.

Sansa leaves the conversation at that, not wanting to push him too much too early. They switch to lighter topics, mostly just talking about the places they pass as she drives them to Gulltown. It’s about an hour drive from the Eyrie, even longer with traffic.

"It's one of the biggest cities in the Vale. The liveliest, too," she explains as they walk along the path leading to Grafton Street where most of the nightlife in Gulltown is.

Sansa's never gone there personally but she’s heard enough tales from both Randa and Harry respectively to know her way. She takes Jon to one of the more popular clubs in the area called Gules; it’s crowded when they arrive, with a long line of people waiting to be let in, but her face is recognizable enough to most Valemen, thanks to Harry’s influence, that they’re let in with no trouble.

“Pretty sure there’s plenty of clubs in the Eyrie,” Jon points out to her loudly as they walk among the throng of people inside the club, shouting the words over the music. “Did we really have to travel this far?”

“This is just to pass the time,” she explains to him as she continues to lead him towards the bar. “It’s what comes after that you want to look forward to.”

“ _Oh?_ ” His eyebrows arch up in intrigue and it makes her laugh.

“There’s a Midnight Market at the plaza. It only opens on weekends,” she explains, talking just as loudly as he did so he’d hear her. “You’ll love it, I swear.”

Sansa buys them a couple of drinks each to catch up to everybody else, noticing that they’re a lot more sober than the rest of the crowd. She doesn’t really frequent clubs; she’s never found enjoyment going to such places, though she’ll admit that she’s only ever been whenever Petyr would drag her to one of his establishments. The knowledge that he does it only to find an excuse to openly leer at her always made her feel uncomfortable so she’d feigned an aversion to drinking and dancing to make him stop bringing her along. 

Now, though, she lets Jon lead her to the dance floor as some upbeat music starts to play. It's too crowded and she doesn’t know what to do at first, feeling somewhat out of her depth as people danced all around them, but she’s always been pretty quick to adapt, or so Petyr likes to tell her, anyway, so it isn’t long before she starts to get into the beat. 

She’s surprised with how easy it is to get lost in the chaos of it all and it isn’t long before she starts enjoying herself, following Jon’s lead as they danced. He’s graceful as he moves, his body swaying against her in sync with the tempo of the music. 

The song that follows is much slower than the others and they find themselves moving closer together; his hands to her hips, hers round the back of his neck. Her heart starts hammering loudly against her chest, butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach. The sensation is new and peculiar, something so unfamiliar it could only be dangerous. 

She sucks in a deep breath when he leans his forehead against hers, his breath hot against her skin. Her eyelids flutter close in anticipation of what he would do next; there’s something so alluring about him, something so magnetic, and she _almost_ lets him when he leans in to kiss her. Instead, she pulls back, forcing herself to be sensible.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t,” she says, pulling away from him for her own sanity. It’s only day one and he’s already getting under her skin. “I - I have a boyfriend.”

Jon steps back politely in a bid to give her space at her revelation. He offers her a surprised and somewhat apologetic smile before asking if she wants to step out for some air, to which she nods in reply. The cool breeze hits her like a slap on the face as soon as she’s out of the club, the fresh air a sharp contrast to the hot and humid atmosphere from inside. She sucks in a deep breath, feeling herself sober up a little. 

What she told him isn’t technically a lie; as far as anyone else is concerned, Alayne Stone is in a very committed relationship with Harrold Hardyng. In reality, however, there’s nothing romantic about the setup.

The only reason Harry’s even with her in the first place is because the Waynwoods owe Petyr a large sum of money and the only way to settle the score is if Harry agrees to marry Alayne. In truth, Harry’s business trip is usually just code word for him going on vacation with one of his many _admirers_ , so it really wouldn’t even have mattered if she did let someone else kiss her. 

It matters to her, though. Because something about Jon makes her feel so vulnerable, so open, and she doesn’t like it. It won’t bode well for either of them to get lost in the game.

She chances a glance at her companion, his face flushed from dancing and the heat. There’s a frown on his face as he walks silently beside her, his lips pouting in concentration. She catches herself just before reaching out to tuck the stray strand of hair away from his face.

It’s another moment before he turns to her. 

"Sorry about - " he rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand, gesturing towards the bar now far behind them. "I shouldn't have -"

She's already shaking her head before he could even finish his sentence. "It's not your fault. I should have told you."

Petyr would be irked when he finds out that she did; he wouldn't appreciate her straying from his game plan. He wants her to seduce Jon, not give him a reason to stray. _Jon was always bound to find out the truth, anyway_ , she reasons with herself in a bid to come up with an excuse. Everyone in the Vale knows about her and Harry. Lying about something so easy to disprove would only give Jon reason to mistrust her.

It takes a few minutes before he speaks up again, his gaze on her is curious and a little expectant. “So, uh -- where’s the boyfriend? He didn’t want to come out tonight?”

“He’s on a business trip out of town. He’ll be back in a few weeks,” she answers, the words coming out too practiced for her liking. 

Jon nods slowly, thoughtfully.“That’s a long trip. Must be a busy guy.”

It couldn’t be farther from the truth; as much as Harry likes to think he’s important, it’s really Petyr who calls the shots. He’s just a pawn in the game, much like Alayne is, moving only when Petyr decides to lift a finger. 

She glances at her watch, realizing only then that so much time had already passed. It’s nearly midnight, just in time to check the stalls at the Night Market in the town’s plaza. Gulltown is most vibrant late into the night when vendors open their stalls to offer different types of goods from all over Westeros and beyond that comes from the trading ships that regularly dock at the pier. 

There’s something so enthralling about getting lost in the sea of people gathered there and it’s one of her favorite places to go to when she wants to disappear. They go around the food stalls first, picking different delicacies they think the other would like and they end up buying a wide array of food to share before looking for a vacant table to eat at.

"We forgot to get drinks," Jon points out just as they’re about to dig in, quickly rising from his seat to presumably get them some. He returns only a moment later with two bottles of water and a cup of lemonade. He places the latter in front of her, offering her a smile. 

“You like lemons, right? I saw one of the booths selling it and I thought you’d like it,” he says, somewhat awkward. She doesn't remember telling him of her preference but she did spend an entire night yesterday favoring lemon flavored cocktails with him. 

She doesn’t like being read, especially not by people she doesn’t trust. Her guard instantly comes up tenfold, taking note of his observant nature. She doesn’t reveal her discomfort however, putting on a smile in thanks. Privately, she studies him right back, internalizing every little detail she’s managed to catch. 

He doesn't at all seem uncomfortable with their cluttered surroundings, unlike most highborn men she knows. Sweetrobin would have whined until she took him anywhere else, Harry wouldn't have gone at all. They prefer going places where they can flaunt their names and riches. Jon, meanwhile, has no trouble blending in at all. It's as if he knows exactly how to function in such an environment, acts as if it's all too familiar. She knows that it's because it is.

"Here, you haven't tried this one yet," he says a while later, sliding the plate of beef-and-bacon pie towards her.

It’s a northern dish he’d bought from one of the stalls; she’s been trying to steer clear of it, not wanting to show her own personal preference to Northern food. At his insistence, she cuts a piece off for herself to taste and the rich flavor of the meat mixed with fruit and honey melts in her mouth almost instantly. _Home_ , it tastes like and the thought nearly makes her cry.

"It's delicious," she says, offering him a weak smile.

“Yeah? I’m glad you like it. I haven’t had one of these in a while, actually,” he admits as he takes a slice for himself, this reminiscent smile on his face. “My mom used to make this a lot back when I was a kid. It has a long shelf life so it’s good for when she’s too busy at work to cook. I used to get stuck microwaving these for weeks until we ran out.”

Alayne tries to imagine him as a boy and sees the clear disconnect between that version of himself and the one in front of her now. A part of her wonders why he feels the need to pretend to be this easy-going, devil-may-care kind of guy but then it’s not like he’s the only one pretending. She’s doing the exact same thing, isn’t she? 

“You know what, though,” he adds almost as an afterthought, turning to her with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I can complain about it all I want but... really, I’d give everything I have now just to get it all back.”

At his words, an image of her family immediately flashes in her mind’s eye. Her mother and father, her brothers, her sister -- their faces bright, the sound of their laughter filling her chest to the brim. _Oh, what she wouldn’t give..._

“I know the feeling,” she admits suddenly, the words coming unbidden and more honest than she ever intended to be with him. “It’s so easy to take things for granted sometimes that you don’t even realize what you have until it’s gone.”


	4. Jon III

The air is cold, their pitch black surrounding lit up only by the orange street lights lined up along the benches at the pier. There’s only complete silence as the night begins to make way for the morning, the dark blue sky painted golden over the horizon.

Jon lets out a tired yawn as he stared ahead, his eyes stinging from the lack of sleep. He can’t remember a time when he’d stayed out this late - or this early - only for the purpose of waiting for the sun to peak, but he finds that it’s somewhat relaxing.

The half consumed cup of coffee on his hand has already turned cold and stale but he takes a sip if only to have something to do. He turns sideways to where Alayne sits quietly beside him, her expression distant as she stared over the horizon. Her own cup of hot chocolate has long been discarded in the trash can just a few feet away from them, having finished the drink sometime ago.

Jon takes another sip of his drink, wonders for a brief moment what it is she might be thinking of. The thought doesn’t linger, just as the expression on her face doesn’t, when she turns to face him upon the realization that he has been staring. 

“Like what you see?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, her tone mocking.

He lets out a chuckle, playing right into it. “I do, actually. Hands down the best view in the Vale.”

She rolls her eyes, though he can see the amusement playing on her lips as she stifles a smile. He turns his body sideways to stare at her more obviously, leaning over his hand as his arm rests on the back of the bench. 

She doesn’t acknowledge his action, merely turns back to watch as the sun continues its ascent. He watches her unabashedly, teasingly, though ultimately he finds himself somewhat entranced by her. Her eyes are red-rimmed and tired from the lack of sleep but the smile that slips onto her lips is sweet and serene, as if watching the sunrise is enough to lift her spirits somehow. 

“We should head back soon,” she breaks the silence after a while, glancing down at her wristwatch to check the time. “My _father_ will be mad once he finds out I stayed out the entire night.”

There it is again, the mention of a father. Hard as Jon tries to think about it, he can’t recall reading anything about living relatives anywhere on her file. He vividly remembers reading that she grew up an orphan and practically raised herself until she grew out of the system. 

He wants to ask her about it but he’s careful not to pry; it’s much too early to ask her anything personal. The few times that she’d mentioned her so-called father, her tone would turn guarded, her defenses coming up around her.

“And your boyfriend?” Jon finds himself asking, shifting the conversation to somewhere more playful. “Will he be mad when he finds out?”

She shakes her head without thinking much of his question, her expression almost dismissive. “He’s not the jealous type.”

His eyebrows arch up in faux-intrigue. “Is that so?”

“Mhm. He knows exactly how I feel about him and there’s no reason for him to doubt it,” she tells him, the words so carefully crafted he almost believes it. 

"So he won’t mind then? If we do this again sometime?”

His statement gets a laugh out of her, the sound soft and warm, and it wrangles a smile out of him. 

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to be trouble?” she asks him, her tone teasing but with a seriousness lying just underneath.

His gaze flickers down to her lips, just as hers does the same on his, and he remembers how he almost kissed her just hours ago. He must have lost his mind for a moment there, must be losing it again as he considers doing it once more. 

“Funny,” he replies in a quiet tone, taking a shallow breath as he forces his gaze back up to meet her steel blue eyes. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

They stare at each other for a moment, this strange expression mirrored on each other’s faces as if they can sense what’s to come. As if they know it’ll be nothing good. Jon is the first to break eye contact, clearing his throat as he looks away. Again and again, he forgets himself.

"We really should head back," she says again, her tone even.

He nods before standing up. “Yeah, you're right. I really don’t want your father to send that scary dude after me.”

They make their way back to her car and drive back to the Eyrie without any trouble. He thanks her for their trip and bid her goodbye before finally heading up to his hotel room.

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the bed, the exhaustion from the past few days finally catching up to him. When he wakes, it's nearly dark out, and as much as he wants to keep sleeping, he knows he has a lot of work to do.

"Stranger take me," he yawns out, pulling the comforter over his head with a groan.

He stays like that for a moment longer before finally standing up in resignation. He grabs his phone from the bedside table to check the time; he has just enough time to wash up and eat before he has to work again.

He doesn't have a lot of leads yet so he heads up at the rooftop bar after dinner, hoping to see the person he's looking for. He settles by the bar again, waiting for the bartender to finish serving one of the patrons before flashing her a friendly smile.

"Hi. Mya, right?"

"Right. Hi, guy I don't know," she greets in return, regarding him with suspicion. "What can I get you?"

He orders a glass of bourbon from her, just to have an excuse to be there. As he drinks, he keeps glancing at the elevator as if he's waiting for someone. He doubts he'd see Alayne tonight; she told him yesterday that she usually works at the main building and rarely on weekends. He figures it'll be safe to look into her and he'll play the lovestruck dumbass if it gets him anywhere.

He waits an hour or so before finally turning to Mya. She's the only link he has to Alayne and he's hoping she'll be able to give him a clearer perspective on what kind of person the girl really is.

"Uh, you probably don't remember me but… I was here the other night?" He ventures slowly, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

He knows she's been watching him all night. Somewhat pitifully, too, in fact. His guess: she knows exactly who he's waiting for and she's well aware that it's a hopeless endeavor. He can work with pity, he thinks privately. As long as it gets him in her good graces. 

"I do remember you, actually." She leans over the counter in interest. "You're that rich boy from the North everyone's been mumbling about, aren't you?"

"I guess so? Um, you can just call me Jon if you want." He pauses. "Listen, Mya, I actually want to ask you something. I was with a girl here last time. Alayne? She mentioned she works here and you seemed to know her well. I was hoping maybe you have her number?"

She snorts. "Yeah, I do have her number. I'm not giving it to you, though."

She says it pointedly, with a fierce protectiveness in her tone that already tells Jon a lot. She seems to respect Alayne, maybe considers her a friend. 

"That's okay. I get it. It's just that I forgot to give her mine when I saw her yesterday," he admits, fishing a business card out of his wallet to hand to her. "So maybe you could give this to her when you see her?"

She takes it and tucks it in her back pocket. "I'll pass it along."

The next couple of weeks goes by without any event. He wasn’t expecting Hardyng’s trip to last longer than a few days, so Jon is left to make do with whatever opportunity he finds to gather intel. He tries not to bring too much attention to himself in the meantime, mostly spends his days alternating between the different amenities provided by the hotel. 

Before he even notices, he develops a personal routine; he spends his mornings at the in-door gym, takes his meals at one of the different restaurants on the ninth floor, lounges by the pool in the afternoon, and he alternates between the casino and the rooftop bar most nights. It feels very much like a vacation, except he has to make the necessary connections with people he would otherwise ignore.

Sometimes he would see Alayne at the hotel, though not as often as he would like. They would go to lunch together, or go drinking at the bar. It depends on her schedule; she’s usually busy preparing for some big event he has yet managed to scrounge an invite for. There’s still time, though, and he doubts they’ll forget to send him one. 

_If not_ , he considers quietly as he makes his way to the rooftop bar. _He’ll just have to find someone else who can give him one._

When he gets up to the top floor, he heads to what is quickly becoming his usual spot by the bar. Only this time, there’s a woman already seated there, conversing with Mya as she worked.

“Good evening, Mya,” he greets, pointedly ignoring the other woman. “Whiskey for me, please.”

“Actually, make that two shots of tequila, Mya, dear,” the woman cuts in brazenly, hijacking his order. Jon raises an eyebrow at her, somewhat questioningly, but she merely replies with a smile. “Aren’t you pretty.”

His eyebrows arch up higher. "I'm sorry?"

She slides one of the shot glasses towards him as soon as Mya places it in front of them, gestures for him to drink. He takes it, clinks his glass with hers before taking the shot. He tries not to wince as the alcohol makes a line down his throat; it can't be advisable to drink as much as he has been in the last couple of weeks.

He turns his attention back to the woman; he's seen her around the hotel a lot, usually surrounded by one executive to the next, sometimes even with Alayne. He knows from Gendry that she's highborn; the only daughter of Nestor Royce, employed at the hotel as the inhouse event organizer. If anyone else can give him an invitation to the upcoming event, it would be her.

She looks him over critically. "Alayne said you were pretty but I didn’t believe her until looking at you just now. My name's Myranda Royce." She offers him a hand in greeting, her eyes fluttering suggestively at him. He's just about to reply when she cuts him off, "No need to introduce yourself, I already know who you are. No one in the Vale has been able to stop talking about you -- the exiled Targaryen son."

 _Exiled Targaryen son_. Jon nearly rolls his eyes at the cliche of it all but he plays along, flashing her a big smile as though he takes pride in the moniker.

"So, Mr. Jon Targaryen,” Myranda continues, leaning over the counter to grab the bottle of tequila Mya had abandoned as she serves another patron. She pours them both another shot. "What brings you to our side of the world -- business or pleasure?"

He takes the shot, decides to ignore her question in favor of his own. "You said you knew Alayne?"

Admittedly, it's an answer all on its own. 

"Pleasure, then," she says, flashing him a knowing smile that disappears as quickly as it comes. "Unfortunately for you, that's a hopeless venture. At least with the girl you're after." 

"And why is that?"

"You strike me as a romantic. But Alayne doesn't have time for any of that. Oh, sure she'll give you her attention, chase after whatever pleasure a pretty boy like you can provide for a time," she tells him, her tone somewhat condescending. "In the end, however, her better judgement will win out - Alayne will do what she must, always the dutiful daughter."

Jon ponders on her words quietly, not missing yet another insinuation of a parental figure forcing Alayne's hand. He has been trying to figure it out to no avail, not even Gendry has managed to find any paper trail to connect Alayne to anyone biologically. He considers just outright asking Myranda about it; she seems all too willing to share, anyway. He thinks better of it, though. He doesn't know her, doesn't particularly trust that she'll keep it between them, so he asks something else instead.

"Why are you telling me all this?" 

She reaches over to smooth his collar, fluttering her eyes at him as she leans in close. "Mayhaps I think someone else can fulfill your needs just fine."

He lets out a laugh, short and playful, just enough to show he knows what she's implying and that he'll take it as a joke. “I think you may be right,” he says, humoring her. “But one can hardly dictate the heart’s desire.”

She gives him a look, shakes her head as if to say 'suit yourself', and perhaps she already knows nothing good can come out of this whole thing with Alayne. 

Jon would agree, though perhaps not for the same reasons she thinks. Myranda must be thinking he's a fool for chasing after someone unavailable but he has his reasons. Just as he's sure that Alayne has a reason for even entertaining him. She's playing him, that much he can tell. She needs something from him. He just can't decide if it's Hardyng that's making her do it or someone else entirely.

And there's always the possibility that she's doing it all on her own; Jon has been entertaining the idea, what with the lack of other suspects, and it would fill in the blanks if true. If she's after the Arryn fortune, all she has left to do now is to marry Harry Hardyng. 

He continues conversing with Myranda to confirm any such theory but she seems to think Alayne is naive and way too young to know what’s good for her. Once Jon is sure he won’t be able to learn anything more from her, he finally decides to bid her goodbye.

He’s scheduled to meet with Gendry tonight so he doesn’t want to be too drunk when he consolidates all the intel he’s gathered thus far. He’s also hoping Gendry's finally found a lead on who Alayne’s father could be but it turns out he doesn’t need to look anymore.

He spots Alayne almost as soon as he steps into the lobby; it’s almost like an instinct, how his eyes instantly search for her in any room he’s in. She's standing by the exit, though she's not alone. She's surrounded by men much older than her, most of whom Jon recognizes from his research as higher-ups of the Arryn group. 

There's another familiar face there, one that he isn't expecting to see.

Petyr Baelish is standing right by Alayne, his hands firm around her waist. There's something smug about how he holds her, as if he's boasting a prized possession to the men around him. There was no indication on either of their files that they even knew each other, much less an indication that they would be this _close_. 

Jon's gaze flickers back to Alayne, notices the stiff smile on her lips as she listens to one of the men speaking to her. Slowly, the pieces start to fall together. She's no mastermind; she's pretty much just another chess piece. Like Robert and Lysa Arryn, like Harry Hardyng. 

_Alayne will do what she must, always the dutiful daughter_ , Myranda Royce's words rings truer than he first assumed. Jon nearly laughs in disbelief at the realization. 

He catches Alayne’s eyes just as he begins to walk again and he wonders if it’s the same for her, if she could sense him too, somehow. He isn't expecting the clear relief that crosses her face when she notices him and he finds himself lifting his hand to wave at her in greeting.

Her lips pull up at that, then she turns to her father. She whispers something to him, excusing herself, perhaps, since she starts making her way towards him soon after. 

He meets her halfway, offering her a smile. "Hey, did I interrupt something?" he asks, nodding towards the group of men she'd just left. "That looked serious."

She waves it off, shaking her head. "It's just my father and his friends. They caught me on my way out. I'm happy to have an excuse to get away, honestly.”

"Your father," he repeats, confirming his previous assumption. "Should I go say hi?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure he'd want to do that himself," she lets him know, sounding somewhat resigned to it. “Where are you headed? Do you have plans for tonight?”

“No. I’m all yours if you want me,” he answers her teasingly. He could always reschedule with Gendry. “Where do you have in mind?”

The offer honestly comes as a surprise to him; he got the impression that she didn’t want a repeat of their trip to Gulltown. Whenever they spent time together after that night it would always be near the vicinity of the hotel. She’s become more careful with him, more distant. As if she enjoys his company just as much but doesn’t want to make the mistake of getting too close. 

Jon can empathize; there’s something about her that constantly makes him forget the work he has to do. He’s still unsure of what to make of her but as much as he would like to say that he maintains her acquaintance only because she’s the closest link he has to Harry Hardying, he would have to admit that it’s really because he likes being around her.

She’s just about to answer his question when her father interrupts, "You must be the reason my daughter was so eager to escape me and my company," he says by way of greeting, holding a hand out to Jon, "Petyr Baelish."

Petyr Baelish was never the focus of any of the police investigation; the reports made it seem as if he was a man burdened with picking up the broken pieces of his life caused by the tragedy of his loved ones' deaths. 

Jon didn't pay much attention to his file because Baelish had nothing to gain from the Arryns' untimely demise. Jon Arryn was thorough with his will; he'd left his entire fortune to his only son and heir upon his death, which means Baelish wouldn't have been able to get his hands on any of the money even after his marriage to Lysa Arryn. _But if his daughter marries the new Arryn heir..._

Jon takes Baelish’s hand extra politely, determined to make a good impression. “Jon Targaryen. Pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Targaryen," he says slowly, making a good show of acting surprised. He offers Jon a bright smile, "You must be Rhaegar's youngest."

"Aye," he answers. "You knew my father?"

"Not as well as I would have liked. He was highly revered by so many people, I was sad to hear of his death," he tells Jon. "You must miss him."

Jon breathes in through his nose, feels himself hesitate before speaking, "To be honest with you, sir, he wasn't much of a father to me."

There's no way they don't already know that; he's sure they'd done their due diligence before he even arrived, so he keeps to the obvious facts. He doubts that it matters, though. What matters is that he has the name and the money. The name Targaryen still holds a lot of power in the South. His father's family comes from a long line of businessmen and politicians. In fact, the Targaryens own what remains to be the biggest telecom company in all of Westeros. 

"Ah, I see." Baelish nods in understanding. "I must say, I'm surprised to find you here. What brings you to the Vale?"

"I'm just passing by. Or at least I was," he answers slowly before his gaze flickers to Alayne, "It turns out there may be a lot more to the Vale than meets the eye."

"Indeed." Baelish smiles knowingly at him, not missing the insinuation. "Does that mean you plan to stay for a while?"

"Only if I'm welcome," he answers with a laugh.

"Oh, _my boy_ , of course you are," Baelish tells him, patting him on the shoulder. He then moves to put an arm around Alayne's waist, "Stay for as long as you want and I'm sure we'll find something to keep you entertained."

Jon feels his stomach churn at that; he doesn't turn to check Alayne's expression but he can almost sense her discomfort. _What kind of father would imply such a thing?_ Of course, Baelish's comment can be taken at face value, maybe as a genuine offer, but Jon couldn't miss the implication if he tried.

Jon flashes him a bright smile, pretending to remain unfazed. "That's a very generous offer. I might never leave."

He feels a wave of shame fill his gut. Is he really so different from the man when he has been using Alayne for his own agenda? He takes a glance at her, an innocent smile on her lips. Though the more he looks at her, the less innocent it seems. It's a frozen smile, more like. As if it's all she can do to keep herself guarded. 

He feels the urge to apologize to her, to make it up to her somehow -- but he can't show his weakness. His job is to find a way to get to Ilyn Payne and bring him to justice once and for all, and it seems he needs Petyr Baelish in order to accomplish that. 

"All the better for me,” Baelish admits, putting a hand around Jon as a show of confidence in him. “In fact, I must confess I'm happy to stumble upon you here. I have been trying to reach out to your brother with a business proposition for quite some time now but I have yet to hear back from him." 

_Here we go,_ Jon thinks privately. It's what he's been waiting for all along. Though he'll admit it's Hardyng he was expecting to reach out to him, not Petyr Baelish, since it's the Arryn Group that's been vying for Aegon's favor for years.

"I'd be more than happy to help, of course, but unfortunately, I don't think I'd be of any use," he admits sheepishly, pretending to be apologetic. "My brother doesn't speak to me, much less ask for my opinion on how to run his company."

"Hm. I'm not so sure it's _his_ company, if you ask me…" Baelish trails off, just enough to get Jon's attention. 

_Then whose is it?_ He has to wonder. But it’s easy enough to figure out what the man means to imply.

Jon can clearly imagine Baelish saying the exact same things to Harry Hardyng; baiting him with a pretty girl, then reeling him in with the promise of money and status. Maybe he alluded to Arryn's ineptitude, implying there's someone better for the job like he’d just implied to Jon about his brother. 

Hardyng's ambitions must've gotten the best of him, and now a boy and his mother is dead -- all because of greed.

Petyr smiles, all too innocently. "Well, anyway, I'd be grateful if you give me an opportunity to discuss with you. I assure you, it's an opportunity you'd be sorry to miss."

Jon plasters on a smile. "Well, when you put it that way then I'd be a fool to decline."

It all makes sense now; maybe Baelish tried and failed to use the same tactics with Robert Arryn so he had to find an alternative. They needed Harry not for what he had but for what he could gain. Baelish could have offered to do the dirty work for Hardyng, making it seem like a win-win situation and something difficult to decline. No wonder he's such an obvious suspect; he probably doesn't even know he's going to be used as a scapegoat.

“Good man. That’s what I like to hear,” Baelish says with a pleased laugh. “My colleagues and I are about to head to dinner, actually. Would you join us for dinner, then?”

Jon glances at Alayne, catches her face fall a little. She must’ve asked him out to dinner for this very reason; she probably wanted to use him as an excuse to avoid an entire night talking business with her father and his friends.

He considers his options; he doubts Petyr would tell him anything crucial right away so it might just be a waste of time. Plus, he'd already told Alayne he'd go out with her tonight. He'll lose her trust if he goes back on his words. Going with her would work more to his advantage, anyway. He shouldn’t seem too eager to agree to Baelish's plans or else they might find it suspicious. 

He turns back to Baelish, offers him an apologetic smile. “Maybe next time. I’d already promised your daughter that I’m all hers for the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Sansa chapter coming up! hehe


	5. Sansa II

Sansa is quiet as she maneuvers the steering wheel, very keenly aware of Jon’s gaze on her as she exits the hotel parking lot.

Usually, the silence that looms between them is comfortable, often even welcome. She spends so much of her time with people who enjoy hearing the sound of their own voices that she’s come to value these rare moments with him; to value the comfort of not having to fill the quiet with meaningless words and empty platitudes. 

Now she wishes he'd say something, anything, to distract her anxious mind. 

"So…" he begins to say, almost as if he can read her mind. "Where are we headed tonight?"

"There's this restaurant in town I'd been meaning to go to," she answers distractedly, picking up speed as she passes one car to the next. "It's kind of a sketchy place but they offer good music so it should be worth it."

"Um… just how sketchy are we talking?" 

She glances up at her rearview mirror, checking to see if they're being followed. There's so many things that hadn't gone according to plan tonight that it wouldn't surprise her if Petyr had sent Lothor to keep track of her. 

She'd gone off-script, leaping off his game plan without warning. He doesn't like it when she does something without his approval and leaving with Jon tonight definitely wasn't supposed to happen.

"Hm?" 

She turns to him, barely catching his question. Her lips instantly tug up at the dubious expression on his face. 

"You'll be fine,” she assures. Then adds, unable to stop herself, “Though maybe you should take off your watch. It looks expensive, I wouldn’t want you to lose it. Your ring, too, just to be safe." 

He gives her such an incredulous look that she's unable to hold back the laughter that escapes her "I'm kidding," she tells him. "They'd probably just go for your wallet.” 

He shakes his head, trying not to smile. "I'm not falling for that twice." He leans back against his seat, more at ease now than he was earlier. "What’s so special about the place, anyway? Why do you want to go there?"

"No particular reason," she says with a shrug. "Mya's band played there once. She brought me and some of the hotel crew along. It was fun, I figure you might like it, too."

It's not technically a lie. Mya did bring her there once, her band did play there, and Jon _might_ enjoy it. But it's not as if she intended on bringing him along in the first place. 

She had already planned to go there alone when Petyr caught her at the lobby and insisted she join him and his companions for dinner. Jon merely came at the right time, providing her an excuse to to get away.

“You know, you’re nothing like I expected,” he says suddenly, his tone reflective.

 _I could say the same thing about you,_ she nearly says. “What do you mean?” She asks instead.

“Well, you’re just so -- ” he waves his hand around, gesturing at her as if that should mean anything. “I don’t know, fancy? And yet you like going to rowdy night markets, watching the sunrise at dirty piers, and apparently, you like seedy restaurants, too. It’s kind of hilarious when you think about it.”

She snorts. “I’m not _fancy_ ,” she says, emphasizing the last word with a roll of her eyes. “And there's nothing wrong with wanting to try new things. Besides, there’s only so many times you can attend lavish dinner events before it starts to get old.”

“You have a point there,” he acknowledges, then steers the topic elsewhere. “Okay, then, Miss I’m-Not-Fancy, what’s the best date you’ve had that wasn’t at some extravagant place? Aside from our Gulltown trip, obviously.”

“That wasn't even a date,” she says, feeling the need to clarify it.

She's not sure she's ever had a real date before, actually. Fancy or otherwise. Unless, of course, she considers that lousy night way back in freshman year of college when she’d let Joffrey Baratheon take her out to dinner. It didn’t end well; didn’t even really start well. He spent nearly the entire time feeling her up under the table and she’d ended up leaving halfway because she couldn’t even pretend to be interested in what he was saying.

"What's yours," she asks, throwing his question back at him for lack of a good answer. "What's the best date _you_ have ever been on?"

He pretends to consider it for a moment. "Well, I was gonna say the one with you but apparently it wasn't a date."

She shakes her head, disbelieving. "Nope, not buying it. Come on, give me a real answer."

He lets out an awkward laugh. 

When she turns to him, she sees his ears going red as he lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck. "I wasn't lying. I don't really go on dates," he says, his tone a lot more truthful than she expected. "I was always so busy. With school then with work…" He clears his throat. "Not that I'm any good at keeping jobs, really."

No, he isn't. At least that's what Petyr has told her. He didn't finish getting his degree, then he just jumped from one unstable job to the next until finally getting his inheritance. He’s been fooling around ever since, or so his records say. 

"I guess there was this one time I went on a double date," he speaks up again, this reminiscent smile on his lips. "But that hardly counts."

"How come?"

"Well… the girl I was with that night ended up dating my best friend for like five months." 

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You're kidding. How did that happen?"

He lets out a laugh at the incredulous expression on her face. “It's not much of a story, really. They just clicked; liked the same things, listened to the same music, made the same jokes, that kind of stuff. That was like junior year, too, so basically everyone thought they were soulmates.”

“And you didn’t mind?”

“No, not really. Like I said, dating wasn’t a priority for me,” he tells her with a shrug. “I didn’t even want to go to that whole thing in the first place. It was Robb who dragged me along.”

Sansa feels her whole body stiffen at the name; it slips out of his tongue so casually, so easily, that she can’t help but feel a bit resentful. She had a feeling he could have been talking about her brother but she didn’t want to assume.

“Robb is your… best friend?” Her tone is soft, quietly hopeful that he'd tell her more about him.

“Yeah, he is. Though, really, he’s more like a brother,” Jon tells her, fond. “If you knew him you'd understand why I never actually stood a chance with Val. In fact, if he was here you'd probably end up head over heels in love with him, too."

Sansa coughs out in surprise, very literally choking on air. It’s not something she ever expected to hear anyone say to her and she almost laughs at the absurdity of it. 

"I highly doubt that," she tells him with a shake of her head, wrinkling her nose at the insinuation. 

They arrive at their destination before he could reply, and she's relieved only because the conversation has taken such a ridiculous turn that she wouldn't even want it to continue.

The restaurant is packed when they enter but they’re thankfully seated pretty quickly. She orders something light, just so they wouldn't have to stay for longer than necessary. 

She looks around the place discreetly as they wait for their food to arrive, double-checking that Lothor isn't lurking on a corner somewhere before she excuses herself to the bathroom. 

She locks herself inside, waiting until she hears a familiar knock. She takes a deep breath before opening it and in comes a woman. Tall, blonde, muscular. She gives Sansa a worried look as she locks the door behind her. "Did you have trouble getting here?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle. What news?”

Sansa has known Brienne for about five years now, ever since they met during her last year studying in King’s Landing. She didn’t trust her at first; she’s long past the age of believing strangers and their promises of protection. 

It didn’t help that Brienne told her a tale she’d already heard before -- about how she knew her mother and had promised to look after her children. It’s the exact same lie Petyr had fed her all those years ago when he took her in. So she struggled to believe it, some part of her still doubts it, but she’s come to depend on the woman. Considers her a friend, even, and Sansa knows just how scarce those can be.

“How have you been?” Brienne asks, looking her over carefully.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” she answers dismissively, determined to get to the point of this meeting. “How about my brother? Did something happen? Why did you want to meet?”

Sansa can count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Brienne in person since she started living in the Vale. Usually, they spoke through messengers, fully aware that Petyr is watching her every move and that a single mistake could alert him of her plans. 

The fact that Brienne would risk it means whatever she has to say is too important to entrust with anybody else. 

“You don't have to worry about that. Your brother and his wife are safe, Podrick has it handled. In fact, here -- ” 

Brienne retrieves her phone from her inner jacket pocket and hands it to Sansa with an image pulled up. She takes the phone to get a closer look and it's a moment before she can make out the image but her lips pull up instantly when she realizes it’s a sonogram of Robb’s baby. 

“It’s a boy,” Brienne lets her know with a small smile. “Pod says they've decided to name him Eddard.“

“It’s the perfect Stark name. It’ll suit him well,” she says quietly, trying with difficulty not to cry.

 _This is my nephew_ , she thinks strangely as she continues to stare at the image. _I’m going to be an aunt._ It’s even stranger to think that Robb is about to become a father when he’s still just a boy in her memory. 

She wonders for a brief moment what kind of father he would be and she realizes, like a punch to the gut, that she doesn’t know him well enough to have an answer. He was still so young the last time she saw him, they all were. Young, innocent, and so clueless of what’s about to come. So much time has passed since then, so many years stolen from her.

“There’s something else,” Brienne tells her after a moment of silence, her tone hesitant. 

Sansa sucks in a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever it could be. Brienne doesn’t say more, merely reaches for the phone to turn to the next page. 

Sansa's heart nearly stops at the sight of the boy in the following photograph. He would be seventeen, if her count is correct. He’s slim and tall, his auburn hair a shaggy mess, and he's dressed in blue overalls with the name _Junior_ on his tag.

“Rickon,” she chokes out. It’s useless to even try and stop the tears from falling now as her fingers trace the features of her baby brother on the screen. She doesn’t even have to ask Brienne if it really is him; she feels it in her gut to be true. “How did you find him?”

“There’s this man named Davos Seaworth, he used to work in the coast guard. He was stationed near the Twins around the time your family... ” Brienne trails off uncomfortably but Sansa already knows what she meant to say. She clears her throat before continuing, “Well, anyway, I stumbled upon some old reports he made around the time about finding a boy fitting your brother’s description. I don’t know what happened in between but he amended his report, said the boy ran away from him. But only a week after that, he resigned from his post and took his family out of Flea Bottom."

Brienne takes a breath. “I didn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it turned out to be another dead end. He was a hard man to track down but I finally did. He lives in Cape Wrath now, runs his own mechanic shop. I gave him a visit and found this boy they call Junior. Your brother.”

Considering everything Sansa has been through thus far, Brienne’s tale isn’t so difficult to wrap her head around. But there’s still so many pieces missing, so many layers of treachery to peel off, that she doesn’t even know what to think anymore.

“How is he?” She asks in a weak tone. More than anything else, that’s what she’d like to know. “Do they treat him well?”

Brienne nods reassuringly. “As far as I know, yes. They're not financially stable but they provide for his needs. He’s doing good academically, too. Maintains good grades, seems pretty involved in school activities. He helps out at the mechanic shop, goes straight there right after school. That’s where I took the photo.”

She's been looking for him for years. Him, and Bran, and Arya. And Praying to all the gods that would listen for them to be alive and safe. She'd started to lose hope as the years spanned out with no trace of any of them; started to believe that maybe Petyr was telling the truth when he told her they all died that night at the Twins. 

She reaches for the wall, using it for support as the events of that night flashes violently in her mind. _Her mother stabbing a man. The fire. Rickon screaming, with fear in his eyes. An unconscious Bran. The harsh sensation of inhaling the smoke in her lungs. Arya struggling against her restraints. Her mother falling to the ground, blood pooling at her feet._

She so rarely lets herself remember that the memory of it overwhelms her. She lets out a sob, her tears coming unbidden.

She feels Brienne’s arms come up around her after a moment; she's been on her own for so long that the comfort of an embrace feels so odd, so unnatural. Still, she clutches at Brienne's jacket like a lifeline, letting herself pretend for a moment that it’s her mother embracing her, her mother running her fingers through her hair as she soothes her aches, _“Hush now, my darling girl. There’s nothing that can hurt you for as long as I'm here.”_

It takes her a moment to gather herself, pushing away the memories into the back of her mind as she's learned to do. 

She walks over to the bathroom mirror, fixing her makeup until no trace of Sansa remains. Once she's finished, she turns to Brienne again. "I need to see him in person."

It's not that she doesn't trust Brienne; it's that she's been lied to and has been manipulated so many times before that she doesn't know how to believe anything unless the truth is staring her right in the face. Besides, it's her brother. She needs the assurance that he's truly alright. 

Brienne nods, doesn’t even question her decision. There's no argument she can say that Sansa hasn't already considered. 

“Do you have a plan?”

That's the tricky part, she grants. She has to be careful with how she goes about it; she can't let Petyr find out her brother is alive. He'd see Rickon as a threat to his plans and he won't hesitate to take him out.

She's considering all possible options when she remembers Jon waiting for her at their table. 

"I think I have one," she says, looking back at Brienne as an idea formed in her mind.

Brienne gives her a knowing look. "Does it involve that man you came here with?"

"Maybe."

If she can somehow get Jon to suggest a trip somewhere close to Storm's End, there's a chance it could work. As long as Petyr doesn't know it's her idea, he won't have a reason to suspect her of ill motives. 

It could be an overnight trip, maybe to King’s Landing? There’s plenty of tourist spots there that Jon might find intriguing. She can pretend to get sick when they get there and then figure out a way to duck out without him noticing. King’s Landing would only be a couple hours away from Cape Wrath, maybe less. She’ll just go find Rickon, see how he is. All she needs is a moment, she’d even take a single second, a single glance, and she'll head right back to the Vale like nothing happened.

"You know who that man is, don't you?" Brienne asks, unsure if she needs reminding.

Sansa nods. She doesn't know Jon well but she's learned enough about him over the years to know he's been lying since the moment he stepped foot in the Vale. She's seen glimpses of him as she kept track of her brother; he would slip in and out Robb's life like a ghost, never fully there and gone before they knew.

She has no clue why he decided to come to the Vale but she doubts it's for a good reason. He refers to himself as _Jon Targaryen_ , contrary to what she knows as his real name, so she assumes he's here trying to climb up the ladder like all the other vultures in the South. Though the more she's gotten to know him, the less he seems like the kind of person to be interested in that kind of thing, which only brings up more questions than she has the time to find the answers. She has enough of her own troubles to deal with.

"It doesn't matter who he is. I can handle him," she tells Brienne with finality, preparing to leave. "Just keep my family safe, okay?" 

She nods. “I will. Reach out once you have a plan and I’ll arrange whatever you need.”


	6. Gendry I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> I'm sorry it took me a while to put this up (had to find work bc im broke af) but I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Also, for anyone who's interested in a song playlist for this fic, here's [mine](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2WPt2iMGc5SwxPlwi56I4p?si=bRtUYVoFSwejU0IuEV9vzQ). :)

Gendry heaves out a heavy sigh as yet another error message pops up on the bottom of his screen. 

“Fucking hell,” he curses under his breath, rubbing his forehead tiredly before typing out another layer of code on the command prompt.

After weeks of trying to exploit any and all weak points he could find within Arryn Group's online infrastructure to help the ongoing investigation, he’d hoped to get results by now. Unfortunately for him, the task is proving to be a lot more difficult than he first anticipated. 

Their firewall is nothing he’s ever seen before, even with his years of experience hacking into secure (sometimes government-protected) networks. There’s layers upon layers of encryption to get past and it would take him way too long to even just figure out, let alone crack. It’s really some next level shit, no doubt thanks to the conglomerate company’s fairly new subsidiary, FalconTech, which primarily focuses on software development. 

Under different circumstances, Gendry would have found the situation exciting. He liked a challenge; the reason he got into programming in the first place was because he enjoyed tinkering and solving the puzzle of it all. But he doesn’t have the time nor the patience for it now. He needed to solve this weeks ago. 

He runs another set of simulations to see if the new code he'd inputted can work. The process takes a while so he transfers to the futon to chill while waiting, perking up only when his phone lights up with a message. 

He’s expecting it to be one of his old contacts he’s reached out to, hoping maybe at least one of them has come across the same type of encryption before, or at least knows someone who has, but none has been able to provide adequate help so far.

Gendry grabs his phone and sees it’s only Jon who texted, letting him know that he’ll be later than planned. He doesn't say why but he's not actually expecting any explanation; while they're using a secure line to communicate, they still have to be careful about these things. 

If there's one thing Gendry has learned over the years, it's that nothing is truly secure. Someone will always find a weakness to exploit, online or otherwise. 

He drops his phone back on the table before standing up to stretch and move his limbs. Unlike Jon, who spends the majority of his time analyzing people and their possible ulterior motives, Gendry's work mostly consists of him staring at his computer for hours on end sorting through data, so he’s been stuck at the safe house for the majority of the time since he got to the Vale. 

He would usually go out every few days or so to buy the necessary supplies once it runs low but nothing outside of that. He doesn't mind it too much, though. He gets to live in a fairly decent place, gets an allowance for his expenses while undercover, and gets his usual pay on top of that. It's a way better setup than he’s used to while growing up. 

Gendry is musing on this when Jon arrives a couple hours later. He’s distracted as he enters the apartment, this faraway look on his face, and it’s immediately clear that he found something important.

“G, can you get me everything we have on Petyr Baelish?”

Gendry’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Why him? What did you find?”

Petyr Baelish was originally one of the suspects in the initial investigation, way before Jon even signed on to the mission. Gendry had spent a huge amount of time compiling a comprehensive file on the guy and found virtually nothing that could raise suspicion on him as a suspect. Frankly, he was so vanilla that it was honestly a relief to be done with that part of the investigation.

“I met him earlier today. There’s something skeevy about that guy," Jon informs him, wrinkling his nose almost in repulsion. “I think there’s a huge possibility he might’ve been involved in the Arryn murder.”

“Based on what?”

Jon recounts his chance encounter with Petyr Baelish just earlier, including the discovery that he’s apparently Alayne Stone’s mysterious father in all this time. Gendry’s kind of confused about that, considering he’s the one who ran Alayne’s name in all the different government databases and found no evidence of her being related to anyone at all -- much less one of the original suspects to their on-going case.

It’s not only that, though. Apparently, Petyr Baelish seems to have insinuated that he wanted to do business with Jon at the expense of his brother. Jon explains that they probably know he isn't close to that side of the family, just like Harry Hardyng wasn't close to the Arryns, and he thinks it must’ve been how he was reeled into this whole mess. 

"That's some real shady stuff if true," Gendry has to admit, though his mind is still stuck on the fact that Jon is some rich businessman’s kid. He shakes his head, tries to remember what the conversation is. "And dragging his own daughter into this mess, too."

"Actually, I have a theory about her." Gendry's eyebrows curve as he turns to Jon, waiting for him to go on. "I don’t think she’s going along with this willingly. I don’t know… I think maybe she’s trapped. The way she was earlier. She seemed almost terrified of him. And you should've seen the way he held onto her." A dark emotion crosses his face, as if the memory of it affected him personally. "It was… it seemed almost possessive. Smug. Like he knew he was getting away with something." 

Gendry considers this, confused. "What are you thinking then?"

"What if they're not even related at all?" Jon asks, turning to Gendry. "You said it yourself, she grew up an orphan, no connection to anyone. Maybe Baelish found this girl who’s intelligent and alluring, happens to have an unsteady background. Maybe he figured she could be useful so he promised her money, maybe even stability, as long as she does whatever he says.” Jon blows out a breath, thinking it through. "He claims her as his daughter, makes her do his dirty work for him. Perhaps the plan was to seduce Robert Arryn, get him to marry Alayne so she'd have access to his fortune. When it didn't work, Baelish knew he had to find another way to get the money."

"And that's where Harry Hardyng comes in," Gendry continues, nodding along. "Where do you fit into this, though? If the endgame is for her to marry Harry Hardyng, why entertain you at all?"

Jon lifts his shoulder. "She's smart and perceptive, I think she's been trying to get a read on me on Baelish's behalf. It would explain how he knew exactly which strings to tug at when we met." Jon pauses for a moment. “Alright. I'll read up on him a little more but you should go take a break, I know you've been at this for a while.”

Gendry nods, relinquishing his trusty laptop to Jon before heading into the kitchen area. Admittedly, he hasn’t even eaten dinner yet. His body clock is so wack that it’s almost like he’s functioning on a completely different timezone. 

He takes the leftover pizza from the fridge and drops the box on the table in case Jon wants any. He then takes a piece before heading towards the window; he usually keeps them closed, just for safety, but he opens it now to get a peek of the outside. 

It’s slightly strange to see the streets still booming with activity so late in the night. After living in the North for the last couple of years, Gendry finds himself unaccustomed to the chaos -- as if he hadn’t already spent the majority of his youth in varying degrees of dysfunction.

First from being shifted around one foster home to the next until he was thirteen, to then spending the rest of his adolescence running around with a self-proclaimed vigilante group in the Riverlands that called themselves the Brotherhood Without Banners. 

Gendry first came across the Brotherhood during his time in King's Landing. He used to apprentice at a repair shop in Flea Bottom and would often meet group members, boys not much older than himself, and they would bring in hardware to get repaired. He sought them out immediately after he ran away from his last foster home, hoping maybe they would take him in like all those other boys he'd met. 

As it turns out, the Brotherhood didn’t just take in every runaway they would come across but his knowledge on repairing and reassembling hardware was apparently useful enough that they did take him in. 

The Brotherhood, as he learned during his time with them, had this whole stealing from the rich to give to the poor kind of thing going on and it involved selling stolen tech they got from corrupt public officials. His job was mostly to check if any of the goods were damaged and then fixing it to make sure they got the most profit. After a while though, they progressed to more technological attacks, with the rise of the internet and all, so he and a couple of the other guys started learning how to code.

When the Brotherhood disbanded years later, he and his friend Hot Pie decided to set out on their own. 

Since they didn’t really know where else to go, they ended up at this inn near the Trident called the Kneeling Man. The inn was known to have a pretty high criminal activity; it’s home to a lot of people from the underground, so he knew it was the one place he and Hot Pie could thrive. Though, admittedly, his friend wasn’t made for that kind of life, so he took a job at the inn and would often direct possible clients to Gendry. 

That’s actually where he got recruited into the Night’s watch. There was this guy named Yoren who came into his office - which was actually just a booth on the corner of the inn's dining area - and hired him to find a man named Amory Lorch. 

He didn’t usually take on jobs like that; he mostly dealt in hardware repair and the occasional programming jobs, staying far away from work that could potentially tie him to murder or something more dangerous. But he’d come across Lorch during his time with the Brotherhood, knew from first-hand experience what a nasty man he was, and with Yoren’s claim (supported by evidence Gendry managed to dig up himself) of a possible cover-up tying Lorch to a murder, it was easy to make up his mind into accepting the job.

Three days after he’d given Yoren the information he paid for, he saw on the news that Lorch was arrested by the Night's Watch for multiple cases of arson and the murder of multiple political figures. He had a sneaking suspicion his client had a hand in that, which meant that he might have actually helped do good with his work, and it felt satisfying. Then four days after that, Yoren met with him again with the offer to join the Night’s Watch. 

After spending so much of his life in the system and then challenging and opposing it, it felt absurd to somehow end up right back inside it. Though, really, the Night’s Watch is barely in the system. Most intelligence agencies don't even take them seriously; they’re considered a joke most times even though they’re probably one of the few agencies, if not the only, that actually get proper results.

“Hey, check this,” Jon calls for his attention and he shakes off his stray thoughts as he shuts the window close. “It says here Petyr Baelish has known Lysa Arryn since he was a kid.”

Gendry walks back towards the table to look at what Jon is reading. It seems to be one of those articles that were released right after Robert Arryn’s murder and his mother’s subsequent death. It was a pretty high profile case so, naturally, the media flocked to the Vale to try and get an exclusive. There was plenty of news coverage about it, even a few that ran stories about the tragic end to Lysa Arryn and Petyr Baelish’s love story that spanned in decades.

“Yeah, I think I read somewhere that his father worked for her parents or something,” Gendry recalls faintly, reclaiming the mousepad to look for the specific file. “He was born here in the Vale, if I remember correctly, but they had to sell everything because his father had a gambling issue.”

He pulls up the document and waits for Jon to finish reading it. It's a pretty rough outline of Petyr Baelish's childhood that he managed to compile but there really wasn’t a lot about the guy's earlier life.

Jon leans back after reading the portion Gendry had highlighted, his eyebrows knitted. “If he grew up with Lysa Arryn then he probably knew her siblings too, right?”

Gendry thinks about it, confused as to why it would matter. “Yeah, probably. Why?”

“Lysa Arryn’s older sister Catelyn was Ned Stark's wife,” Jon lets him know, slow and thoughtful, “That links Baelish to two different murders committed by Ilyn Payne. Within a single family tree. Which means if he’s involved in the Arryn case, it’s possible he was involved in Ned Stark’s murder, too.”

Gendry keeps forgetting they're working two different cases at the same time, so it's helpful that Jon seems unable to forget. It just has so many angles to it that he doesn't even know how to connect it all; a sharp contrast to how weak the case seemed when Thorne was the one overseeing it.

They try to dig up whatever they could find online that further connects Petyr Baelish to Ned Stark and they manage to locate a few articles, along with some pictures, that proves they've met at one point or the other. 

They also learn that Petyr Baelish really has been around in the political sphere. After working for the Arryns when he was younger, he also spent a few years working for the Lannisters, and as a consultant to a few other big firms. And then he became a member of Robert Baratheon's council during his presidency.

"Not gonna lie, I'm only getting even more confused," Gendry has to admit after a while. 

"Yeah, I know. But it could still be nothing. These rich folks are pretty much connected one way or the other. Let's just keep it in mind in case we find something related to it," Jon says unconvincingly. "Regardless, Petyr Baelish is now the priority of this investigation. I'll find out what I can about him on my end."

They call it a night after a while and Gendry spends the next few days trying to find another way into FalconTech's server while Jon gathers more intel on Petyr Baelish. It appears that the man has been operating under their nose the whole time. From what Jon has learned, he's been managing Arryn Group while Hardyng is away, and that it wouldn't be the first time he's operated at the helm of the company. 

Gendry hates that he's learning all this second-hand, fully aware that they could've figured this out much quicker if he was able to get inside FalconTech's system. 

He tries not to dwell on it, though, especially since he finally found a potential fix. He's exhausted every available option, including using social media to track down employees who may have a high enough security access he can use. But the company really does take their online security seriously, so the only remaining option is to walk right into their server room and plug himself in.

He would have done it long ago if he thought he could get away with it; the company's cyber security is child's play compared to their actual, physical security. Which is why it's a relief when Jon tells him Petyr Baelish set up a meeting with him.

Gendry takes the black, rectangular equipment from the briefcase. It's four inches long and half an inch wide, with the small camera lens implanted behind a protruding button. 

It's a spycam that he brought along with him from the base and he had Gilly match the button to one of Jon's clothes. He turns it on and connects it to his laptop before buttoning it onto Jon's suit, inspecting if it's noticeable on him or not. 

When he's satisfied that it's well-hidden, he turns to his laptop again to make sure the feed is clear and stable as Jon moves.

“We all set?” Jon asks, his voice echoing in Gendry’s earpiece. 

"Uh, just one more thing. Here - " Gendry takes the flash drive lying by his laptop and hands it to Jon. "Don't lose it." 

They go over the plan quickly one more time before Jon finally slips out of the vehicle to take a cab back to the hotel. All he has to do now, aside from literally everything else, is to plug Gendry’s flash drive into the company’s main server. It contains a malware inside it that he coded to fully bypass FalconTech’s security to give them access to everything once in the system. 

He waits for Jon to arrive at the location, checking and rechecking the feed on his monitors he’s set up to quarterback from miles away. He’d set up three in total, one projecting the feed from Jon’s pinhole camera, another showing the blueprint of the building he’d found from a public record. And the last monitor is actually a live camera feed coming directly from the building.

It took him a lot of digging online to finally find an Arryn employee with admin access that he could use to get in. Unfortunately, it's a shallow type of exploit. It doesn't really give him much to work his way inside the system, which is why the most effective way is still for Jon to plug in the flash drive.

"Alright, G, I'm heading in," Jon lets him know once he arrives, voice low and quiet. 

"Yeah, okay, I got you."

Gendry lifts his gaze up to the camera feed, locating Jon on one of them. He follows him as he goes through the security check then to the front desk. The man at the desk seems to recognize him so he's quickly directed to the twenty-third floor where Petyr Baelish's office - Harry Hardyng's, really - is located.

“It still boggles my mind that you’re rich,” Gendry comments idly. 

Jon doesn’t respond but he would probably say, through gritted teeth, ‘I’m not rich,’ as he has done many times before. Instead, he heads to the elevator along with a few other people. 

There's maybe eight or so people with him, which is a fairly small number. It's exactly why they scheduled the meeting around lunch time; the less people in the building, the better. 

The crowd thins as the elevator moves up, leaving Jon alone as it takes him up to the executive floor. Gendry checks the feed from the security room, makes sure the guy watching the feed is preoccupied before freezing it and replacing it with an empty elevator loop he'd captured hours previous so they don't catch Jon heading up to a restricted floor. 

"Alright, you're in the clear," he informs Jon, turning back to watch him as he uses the virtual keycard Gendry had put on his phone to get access to the floor. 

He double checks that the area is still clear, like it usually is. A tech guy would come in there every so often to inspect the server for malfunction or whatnot but other than that, the security on the floor is surprisingly pretty lax. 

Jon thinks there could be a trap but Gendry's pretty sure they'll be fine. It's nearly impossible to get inside the building unless you work there or have any business being there; every employee has their own keycard they use to get in, the encryption somewhat similar to the ones they use at the hotel, but they make the cards inhouse and they for sure change the code regularly. 

He checks on the guys in the security room again before changing the loop again so they don't become suspicious of the elevator's prolonged vacancy. He turns his attention back to Jon once he enters the server room. 

Lined up in four rows are big, heavy-duty machines that make up the entire Arryn Group network. He instructs Jon on where to plug the flash drive in while running commands on his end. The whole thing takes about five minutes in total before Gendry is fully inside the system and he makes Jon wait as he skims through the files just to make sure he does have full access.

"Alright, we're good," he says with a relieved laugh in confirmation. A small part of him wasn't sure his code would actually work so he's definitely glad it did its job right. 

He repeats the previous process of changing the feed as Jon heads back to the elevator and it's only after he's in the clear that Gendry starts to go through the different servers. 

He ignores most of the basic company records, jumping all the way back to documents related to Robert Arryn's short time as the head of the company. While he and Jon are both pretty convinced Baelish is indeed the culprit in all this, they still have to cover all their bases and make sure Arryn wasn't making shady deals that could've put him under a different threat.

"What's in King’s Landing?" Jon's voice suddenly disrupts Gendry's focus as he goes through the files. 

"Huh?" He asks distractedly.

He turns to the spycam feed, confused, and though he can't see much from the angle, he can tell that Jon's actually speaking to someone else. 

"Nothing, what - " it's a woman's voice that answers. "Jon. What are you doing here?"

Gendry's eyebrows arch up. "Is that who I think it is?"

His guess is confirmed one he locates them on one of the other CCTV feeds. Standing next to Jon is a tall and slim woman that could only be Alayne Stone. Gendry zooms in on them, intrigued. Aside from a few photographs on her file and some updates from Jon, he hasn't actually seen her throughout this investigation. He’s been curious about her, if he’s completely honest, since Jon wouldn’t shut up about her.

"I have an appointment with your father, if I could just figure out where his office is," he says with a laugh. He gestures to her phone, which she was holding to her chest. "Are you going on a trip?"

"Oh, no. I was just -- well, fantasizing about it, mostly," she says, her voice light and soft. She looks hesitant to go on or maybe the camera feed is just slow. Gendry can’t tell. "It's not like I can actually go, though. But you said you were looking for Father's office? Come on, I'll take you."

Jon falls into step with her and Gendry shifts to another feed to keep track of them.

"Why can't you go?" Jon asks after a beat, bringing them back to their previous conversation. 

She turns to him, almost as if she can't decide if she should go on or not. "I don't really have a lot of free time and I'll have even less once Harry gets back."

"You don't want to go with him?" 

She lifts a shoulder. "He's busy."

"I can tag along," Jon offers, to Gendry's surprise.

"You can?" He asks dubiously.

Gendry’s pretty sure Jon is trying to flirt which is kind of funny because he’s not sure the guy has ever been in a relationship before. The way people talk about him at the agency, it always seemed like he had no life outside of work. His obvious lack of game kind of confirms it.

"I wasn't offering,” Alayne replies teasingly.

"Too bad. Travelling is a lot more fun with company," Jon comments innocently. “Take it from someone who knows.”

Somehow Jon actually does get her to agree to go on a trip with him, all before they reach her Father’s office. The move honestly confuses Gendry. He’s not sure what the endgame here is; literally just days ago Jon said that they’re focusing their investigation on Baelish and now he wants to… go on a date?

“Okay… what are you planning, exactly?” Gendry has to ask once they meet up in his van again.

The meeting with Baelish seems to have gone well; he wasn’t actually paying much attention, too busy going through some of the files he found. He’s pretty sure he didn’t miss anything important, anyway. Baelish kept praising Jon and buttering him up, and nothing else beyond that.

“You mean in general?” Jon asks distractedly as he removes the spycam. He then takes his suit off and moves the shotgun seat.

Gendry glances at him as he pulls out of the parking lot, heading back to the safe house just outside of town. “I meant are you actually planning to go to King’s Landing with Alayne?” 

“Oh. Yeah. It’s exactly what she wanted me to do so I took the bait,” he says simply, as if that should make sense to Gendry. “I just can’t tell if Baelish is in on it, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s never been that forward with me about anything. Usually she deflects or redirects the conversation back to me,” he explains and the logic does kind of make sense to Gendry. The thing is, he’s never actually been good at reading people so he’ll have to take Jon’s word for it. “That means she could be warming up to me or she’s up to something, Eitherway, it couldn’t hurt to get her away for a while.”

“Well, now, Agent Snow,” Gendry turns to him with a laugh, his eyebrows arching up in surprise. “I always thought you were an ‘all work, no play’ kind of guy but apparently not.”

He frowns at Gendry’s, almost as if he doesn’t immediately understand the insinuation. It kind of makes it more hilarious. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says finally, scowling once he realizes it. “I just meant that she seems to know Baelish best. She probably has intel on him which means she’d be a good asset if we get her on our side, but I can’t try to do that with that Lothor guy lurking around her all the time. Getting her away could work on our side.”

“That’s a good point.” Gendry stifles his smile; he was just joking around, Jon didn’t have to be so obvious by explaining it so  _ defensively _ . He tries to make a straight face, forcing himself to be serious as he considered Jon’s words. While Alayne would probably be a good asset, it seems like a longshot to get her onboard. “You think she’ll be willing to cross Baelish, though?”

Jon considers it for a moment, leaning back on the seat with a sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know. But she’s scared of him, that much I could tell. Maybe she’ll help us if we promise to protect her from him.”


	7. Sansa III

Petyr is standing by the window when Sansa enters his office. He has his back to her, his posture straight and rigid, his hands clasped in front of him. She takes a deep breath as she shuts the door behind her, quietly racking her brain to figure out what he needs from her.

“You wanted to see me?” She speaks up, her voice soft and unobtrusive.

His assistant told her to come up as soon as his meeting with Jon Targaryen ended so she has to assume it has something to do with him. He doesn’t respond to her question, doesn’t even move to acknowledge her; he keeps his gaze fully locked on the window in front of him. _Something’s not right,_ she thinks immediately _._ He would have turned to her by now, would’ve greeted her or leered at her -- or something. 

With him facing away from her, she has trouble seeing the expression on his face to determine what kind of mood he’s in. Her gaze falls to his hand instead and she notices him twisting the silver ring on his forefinger, a gesture she instantly recognizes as something he does when he’s perplexed. 

She tries to seem calm and unbothered even though his lack of response feels strange. Her best guess is that Jon said something to him, something alarming, maybe, because she feels as if she’s being tested, as if Petyr is waiting for her to give herself away. 

She makes her way towards the desk; her heels click loudly against the floor in the silence of the room and the sound almost feels too loud in her ears, too obvious, as if her mere footsteps could give away everything she’s been trying so hard to hide.

“How did your meeting with Jon go?” She speaks up again, keeping her voice even despite the slowly rising panic within her.

He takes a long breath before finally speaking up. “The meeting went as well as expected, I won’t bore you with the details. However, _Jon_ \- ” he turns to her then, his expression almost mocking as he emphasized on her use of his name. “Informed me that he was taking you on a trip. Imagine my surprise to hear of it.”

She nearly sighs out in relief; it’s jealousy she detects in his tone, not suspicion, which means she hasn’t actually made a mistake. “You told me to keep him close. I just - when he asked me, I just did what I thought you’d want me to do,” she says innocently, her gaze locked on him. She even furrows her brows for good measure, feigning confusion. “Was I wrong to agree? I assume we don’t want him to wander off too far on his own.”

“No. We do not. It’s imperative we keep our eyes on him until everything is set in motion,” Petyr admits, though he won’t actually tell Sansa what ‘everything’ entails. He fixes her with a look. “It’s clear that you’ve grown fond of the boy and while that is cause for concern it just so happens that I need him out of the Eyrie until the Gala. If I allow this, can you promise to be careful around him?”

Her brows crease slightly. “I always am.”

He stares at her, unconvinced. “Are you? I wouldn’t want you to make the mistake of trusting Jon Targaryen like your father did. ”

_Mistake..?_

“What -” She blinks at him in surprise. He rarely, if ever, mentions her _real_ father and she doesn’t know why he would now, after all the time that’s passed since this whole mummery began. “What are you saying?”

His expression turns to one of concern, walking over to where she’s standing. She fights the strong urge to step back with him barely a foot away but she manages to stay still as a hand slides up her cheek. “Oh, sweetling, I’ve been trying to protect you from this very thing but I see now that you need to know the truth.” 

She remains quiet, waiting for him to continue. She doesn’t even have to pretend to be confused; she has no idea what he’s trying to do right now. 

“I had one of my men look into your father’s death. A reliable source has shared vital information that you deserve to know.” 

Several questions immediately spring to mind: _why bring this up now? Why is he looking into it in the first place? And what does her father’s death even have to do with Jon?_ She can’t decide which is the safe one to ask -- not that she’d believe whatever he has to say; she’s fully aware that all he does is feed her nothing but lies intended to manipulate her. Still, there’s a purpose to everything he says and does, he taught her that, so the smart thing to do would be to properly observe.

She faces him, slow and thoughtful. “You said it was the Lannisters who wanted him dead.”

“There is no doubt in my mind that they are responsible for it but they also know better than to get their own hands dirty,” he points out. _Just like you_ , she wants to say. “My source said there was a cover-up to hide who pulled the trigger but he managed to give me a name. Ilyn Payne.”

Sansa pretends to process this even though she already knows; Brienne has connections within the Kingsguard and she found out long ago that President Tywin Lannister released a gag order to keep the name of her father’s murderer out of the airwaves. She knows all about Ilyn Payne and his history. 

Now, if she managed to dig this up with very meager resources, then it seems inconceivable for Petyr, who has so many influential people at his beck and call, to have just found out. Of course that’s discounting the fact that he wouldn’t have needed to look far to find the truth; he’s probably among the few that knew the story of Ned Stark’s assassination before it even occured. 

He may not have pulled the trigger, he may not have uttered the command, but she knows he’s just as guilty for her father’s death as the Lannisters are.

She lets her anger and frustration come to the surface, channeling emotions that she’s been trying hard to temper down. “But - I don’t - if people know who did it then why is no one looking for him?” She shakes her head, giving Petyr an incredulous look. “He has to pay for what he did.”

He moves to caress her face, as if to comfort her. “Patience, sweetling. I already have Lothor looking into it.” He tilts her face so she’d meet his eyes. “I give you my word, he will be brought to justice.”

His gaze travels down to her lips, desire flashing in his eyes, and she nearly lets out a sigh of relief when she hears a knock on his door. She’s the first to step away, keeping her expression neutral as he irritably calls his assistant, Marei, in. 

He waves her right out after she informs him that everyone’s already waiting for him at the conference room for his scheduled meeting. Once alone, he turns back to Sansa. “We still have much to discuss but we’ll have to continue it over dinner,” he tells her, eyebrows raised as if he’s waiting for her to argue against it. “I presume you’ll make yourself free?”

“Of course,” she says. She didn’t have any plans but it wouldn’t have mattered; he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. “I’ll be waiting in my office.”

She slumps down her chair as soon as she’s back in the privacy of her office, wondering how not a single part of her plan has gone accordingly. 

She didn’t even intend for Jon to agree and so willingly fall into her trap so soon. The whole ‘bumping into him on the hallway’ scenario was only meant to plant the idea in his head. She thought it would be a few more days before she convinced him. And only then was she going to tell Petyr about it. She miscalculated, that much is obvious. She didn’t think Jon would quickly share the information on her behalf.

The hours go by excruciatingly slow and she tries to occupy herself with work no matter how difficult it is to focus, especially when she doesn’t know what to expect from Petyr’s invitation to dinner. 

It’s Lothor who finally comes up to her office to fetch her and Petyr brings her to a five star restaurant in Heart’s Home. She recognizes the establishment as one among the few owned by the Corbrays. 

Petyr frequented the place because it offered private rooms for VIPs which he used to make some of his backdoor deals. He’s brought Sansa along on a few occasions, including the time they spoke with the Waynewoods to finalize her and Harry’s _arrangement_ , but it’s never been just them two. 

In fact, she’s been doing her best to avoid being alone with him anywhere since her aunt’s demise. It’s been clear to her that he wants her, that he’s wanted her for a long time, but no matter how hard she deflected his advances she understood that it’s only ever a matter of time before he started to get impatient. 

As she enters the room he’s reserved for them, she realizes that he means to make a move sooner than she thought.

She takes a long breath as she walks toward the long table set for two. The atmosphere is completely different from the few times she’d been there; this time the lights are dimmed, with a couple of candles illuminating the table, as well as a bouquet of red roses set as a centerpiece. 

She keeps her expression nonchalant, as though she doesn’t notice how uncomfortably intimate this feels, but every atom in her body wants nothing but to run away. She’d do it if she thought she’d ever get far but she could probably only get as far as Moat Cailin before Lothor or someone worse than him gets to her. She could also go South but it wouldn’t make any difference, not with lions and snakes all around her. 

If she was brave enough she'd escape to Essos; she’d leave this all behind and never look back. But what then? Who would protect Robb and his growing family from those who would harm them? Who would continue searching for the siblings still lost to her? And, really, how can she ever live in peace by abandoning them?

This is exactly why Petyr is so comfortable crossing lines and testing her boundaries; he knows he has her trapped in his grasp so long as there remains a threat to her family’s safety. He’d like her to believe that he's the only one who could help her stand against her enemies, and her family does have plenty, be it the Lannisters, the Freys, or any other clan that her father once stood against, but it’s also true that Petyr played his part in all the tragedies that befell her since that night at the Twins. 

It took her awhile to make sense of it but now she understands that this nightmare can only end by making him pay for everything he’s done to her family. And she’ll make sure he does even if it means dragging him down to hell with her.

“You’re deep in thought,” Petyr speaks up, taking notice of her silence as he begins to eat. “Is something bothering you?”

She straightens up, reaching for the glass of water by her plate. She takes a small sip, considering what to say before finally turning to him. ”I was just thinking of our conversation earlier. I still don’t understand what any of it has to do with Jon.”

Petyr has implied that Jon may have had something to do with her father’s death but she can’t imagine how he could, not even with the knowledge that he’s been lying to her this whole time. She’s met plenty of monsters in her lifetime and she doesn’t think he’s one of them. At the same time, though, she’s no longer the naive girl she used to be. If Petyr thinks he has something incriminating on him then she’s at least willing to listen.

She watches as Petyr reaches into his coat pocket for a small brown envelope. He offers it to her and she takes it, curious, as he leans back on his chair. She finds inside it a picture of Jon in a suit, his wardrobe much simpler than the ones he seems to favor now, his hair much longer and tied up on a bun. His posture is different as well, more laid back and casual, holding a bottle of Torrhen’s Ale in his hand as he converses with another man. 

She glances back at Petyr as she places the photo on the table. “Is this supposed to mean something?”

The corner of his lips tug up, as though he’s pleased with the bite in her tone. “That photograph was taken at your brother’s wedding. That man next to Jon is Podrick Payne, cousin to your father’s killer. He used to intern at the Golden Lion, I’ve seen him there a few times myself. Now he works at a firm called Sapphire Security -- whose founder coincidentally also has ties to the Lannisters.” He takes a pause, most likely for effect. “What business would a man like that have in the North? What business would he have with a Targaryen?”

“You’re saying Jon had something to do with my father’s murder?” She hazards a guess, frowning in thought. Her breath comes a little easier now that she knows he doesn't have any actual evidence to present and is only grasping at straws. ”You think he conspired with the Lannisters to -- to what? Kill the man who raised him? But why would he?” 

“Ilyn Payne had crucial information about your father’s whereabouts the day he was killed. Information he could have only gotten from someone on the inside,” he tells her, speaking as if this is a proven fact instead of mere speculation; he speaks with so much conviction that anyone who didn’t know better could fall for it. “Of course, as you pointed out, there remains the question of ‘why’. What reason could Jon have to betray a man who took him in and treated him like a son?”

He turns to her expectantly, waiting for her to be the one to answer. “Greed.” She says, her expression growing dark. “Maybe the Lannisters offered him money.”

He nods, once. “Hm. Maybe. Does Jon seem like a man who can be bought?”

“Anyone can be bought at the right price.”

She turns quiet again, thinking. Obviously, she knows Petyr is wrong about his assumption that Podrick is a Lannister man but there must be a reason he suspected him in the first place. Pod’s credentials aside, why does Petyr think the Lannisters would send their men after Robb?

She turns to him again, her stomach sinking in realization, and she already knows the answer is bad before she even utters the question, “What do they have on my brother?”

_***_

To Sansa’s relief, the next couple of days pass without any event. She simply heads to work, attend meetings, finish all the paperwork, head home, sleep -- wash, rinse, repeat. In fact, the tedious nature of her job is almost soothing if her mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of how to keep her brother and his family safe through all the mess they’re facing. He's definitely not making it easy for her, what with him looking into their father’s death. 

She didn’t even know about it until Petyr told her but there’s no doubt he was telling the truth. He’s been looking for the perfect opportunity to take her brother out of the picture without getting his own hands dirty and now he’s found one. She can even imagine how pleased he must’ve been with himself as he told the Lannisters that the last remaining Stark intends to take revenge. 

Sansa heaves out a sigh, rubbing her face tiredly. Robb should’ve left it alone; he should’ve just let things stay buried in the past and continued leading a peaceful life. She can’t blame him for trying but she knows for a fact that finding the truth won’t bring him any good. If anything, it only puts a target on his back.

She turns to her side where Jon is staring quietly out the window as she drives. There’s not much to see in the dark, just silhouettes of the trees and the unlit houses they pass by. His brows are creased, mouth pursed in a pout, seemingly deep in thought. He’s been quiet for most of the ride, as if he could sense her need to be alone with her thoughts.

She wonders what part he plays in her brother’s secret investigation against the Lannisters. She’s not even sure how they could have connected the dots right back to the Vale but it’s clear that Petyr suspects that they have. That’s why he was so intent on making her mistrust Jon. His jealousy aside, he knows he’ll lose his grip on her if she thought there was even a slight possibility of reaching out to her brother.

“You can play some music if you want,” she offers, breaking the silence that’s enveloped them for a while now. 

Grateful as she is for the peace and quiet, she could use some distraction. There’s so many things going through her mind that she can’t even be thrilled over the fact that, after fourteen years, she’ll finally be able to reunite with her family again. Even if it’s just for a moment, even if she knows Rickon might not remember her.

She can recall years and years of longing for her brother and father, years of crying and begging for Petyr to let her be with them. He always insisted that it wasn’t time yet. That it’s still dangerous. _“Once the time comes, I will bring you back North. Back to Winterfell,”_ he would promise. She didn’t realize sooner that he meant he’d bring her home only once all her family is gone.

“What kind of music do you like?”

She turns to Jon, sees him scrolling through his phone. “Anything you like is fine.”

He chooses to play an alt rock playlist that he must have saved on his phone. She can tell he listens to it regularly and he proves her theory when he starts to sing along. She finds that he has a good singing voice. Deep and rough, but also warm and soothing. She bites down a smile as she listens, rolling the windows down to let in the cool breeze as they speed through the High Road. The farther they get from Petyr and the Vale, the lighter she feels.

They make a pitstop near the trident for gas as well as to eat a late dinner since they didn’t have a chance beforehand. It probably would have been smarter to drive in the morning but she reasoned that the King’s Road would be more manageable at night, so they left right after her work ended. Really, she just wanted as much time as she could have away from the Vale.

“So, what’s our game plan for tomorrow?” Jon asks as he dips a piece of fry in ketchup. 

She reaches for a napkin to wipe her mouth before speaking. “Well, we’ll probably arrive in King’s Landing around two in the morning. I already called the hotel so we’ll have our rooms ready by then.” She thinks for a moment. She's hoping she can get a couple of hours of sleep after they get to King’s Landing and then find her brother before she has to meet up with Jon again. “We’ll probably be tired by the time we arrive so I figure we can sleep in and meet up around lunch? What do you think?”

She bites into the inside of her cheek, hoping he’d simply go along with it. 

He nods slowly. “Sounds good. But I was kind of thinking more like… where do you want to go? What do you want to do? That kind of stuff.”

“Oh, uh -- Right. Well, the Dragonpit is popular if you want to check it out. They have a body fossil of a full-grown dragon as an attraction there, if you’re into that kind of thing. And there’s the Red Keep if you want to check out the old castle grounds. There are tons of museums too if you’re interested in - ”

“How about you? Anything in particular you want to see?” He asks. “I mean… you wanted to come here too, right?”

“I did, yeah. But it wasn’t for any particular reason, I just wanted to get away for a short while.” She looks around the half-filled diner they were at, wondering if Petyr has any ears in there. He probably does. “Plus, I kind of lived in King’s Landing for years so there’s not a lot left for me to see. You should decide, I’m fine with anything.”

He squints at her, thoughtful. “You don’t do this often, do you?”

“Do what?”

“Take a break, have fun,” he fills in, to which the answer is no. The last time she was on vacation, her entire family nearly died. Aside from Rickon, she can’t even be sure if any of them survived at the Twins that night. “It kind of feels like you don’t have any idea how.”

She offers him an empty smile. “I never have the time.”

She looks down on her plate, playing with the half eaten pasta dish as an unsavory memory starts replaying in her head. She can distinctly remember how confused she was to wake up the next day at a small clinic in Oldstones with only a strange man as a companion. He introduced himself as Dontos Hollard. 

He told her he was working for her family and promised he’d bring her back to them as soon as she was strong enough to travel. She allowed herself to believe that they were safe, that the events at the Twins weren't as horrible as she remembered it. But days later Dontos brought her to a small estate in the Vale at a town called Drearfort, and instead of family, it was Petyr Baelish who greeted her.

“I can drive if you’re tired,” Jon offers as they walk out of the diner, brows furrowed in concern.

She doesn’t even argue when he puts his hand out, merely hands him the keys before sliding into the shotgun seat. She’s usually better at keeping her emotions in check but there’s something comforting about his quiet presence that just makes her feel… _vulnerable_.

She leans back against the headrest and shut her eyes, letting the music fill the silence as she slowly drifts to sleep.

They’re parked in front of their hotel when Jon shakes her awake, offering her a soft smile as he tells her that they’ve arrived at their destination. She looks around, slightly disoriented, before stepping out of the car. 

Since she called ahead, they’re ushered into their respective rooms pretty quickly and Sansa wastes no time getting ready to sleep. She wakes to her alarm three hours later, which is already a lot more sleep than she thought she’d get, but she still has to drag herself out of bed. 

She takes a quick shower then dons a pair of old jeans, a plain blue shirt over a dark grey hoodie, and a pair of black sneakers. She leaves her phone and car keys on the bedside, puts on the hood of her jacket before finally stepping out of her room. 

It’s still dark when she gets out of the hotel but the streets are already busy with folks on their way to work, some maybe just on their way home. It’s all too familiar and a lot more comforting than she expected. 

She slips into the crowd, hoping to remain inconspicuous in case Petyr has someone keeping track of her. It takes her about fifteen minutes to reach the designated spot Brienne had picked out for her. It’s in a quieter part of town just outside of Eel Alley where a car has been left for her to use. She spots the blue sedan right out front of a closed bookstore and she walks over it immediately. 

She unlocks it using the key she found taped underneath the gap between the tyre. She slips inside, glancing at her watch. It’s only four in the morning; if the traffic isn’t too bad she’ll probably arrive in Cape Wrath around seven, just in time for Seaworth Mechanics to open. 

There’s no way to be sure her brother will be there but Brienne assured her that he usually was on weekends so all she can really do is hope. Otherwise, all this would’ve been for nothing.

She’s careful as she drives, making sure to check and double check that she’s not being followed by one of Petyr’s men. The last thing she wants is to lead him right to her brother, so it’s useful that she’s had years of practice in losing a tail if necessary.

She doesn’t start to get nervous until she passes the sign that says she’s in Rainwood, which means she’s only half an hour or less away from the town where her brother lives. When she gets even closer, just a block or so away from the mechanic shop, she stops on the side of the road with her stomach in knots. 

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to gather herself, before she steps out of the car to check the trunk. She rifles through the toolbox in there to find something hard enough she could hit the car with. She’d asked Brienne to provide her with one, just to have an excuse to be at a mechanic shop in the first place. It probably would’ve been easier to have asked for an already broken car but she figured that would’ve been too much hassle and she didn’t want to risk it breaking down or getting stopped by authorities during her drive.

She finds something that looks like a hammer, only bigger and oddly shaped, and she carries it all the way to the front of the car. She waits until the road is clear before hitting one of the headlights. She’s not that strong so it takes a few times before the plastic finally breaks. 

Once she’s satisfied, she throws the tool back where she found it and finally steps back into the car to drive to where her baby brother will hopefully be.


	8. Junior I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s sometime around eight in the morning when someone with a broken headlight comes in. Junior comes to the front of the shop to check it out. From what he can see, the glass seems to have been deliberately broken, maybe by a vandal, since the area around it doesn’t have any dents that would tell him otherwise. 
> 
> He turns to the owner as she steps out of the car but he freezes at the sight of her. 
> 
> _“Mother…?”_ he finds himself muttering under his breath, low enough that no one else could have heard.

Junior is no longer afraid of the nightmares that come to him in his sleep. He’s been having them since he was a kid that it’s become more exhausting than anything else. Though, he’ll admit that some nights are a lot worse than others.

Tonight is one of those nights; as always, his dream starts like a fairytale.  _ He’s at a picnic somewhere in the woods, playing with some kids. Two boys and two girls. Their mother and father are sitting underneath a tree, watching them.  _

_ He can’t make out how any of them look, there’s a shadowy element that conceals their faces from his view, and their voices are muffled when they speak. But he can tell they’re all happy. He can hear the echoes of laughter as they run around chasing each other, he can feel it reverberating within himself as he shared in the merriment. _

_ All that comes to a stop when he hears the mother scream, her voice shrill and full of agony. His head whips to her instantly and he sees her fall to the ground, her body oozing with blood. The realization comes late that they’re now somewhere completely different. He can’t tell where but it’s dark and the air smells like death and decay. He hears himself cry out for her, crawling towards her in fear. He begs her to wake up. Wake up. Wake up! But his efforts come fruitless. Slowly, their surroundings become enveloped by fire. He leans forward, nuzzling against the mother as he cries for salvation. _

_ Somewhere close by, he hears someone else wailing. A girl, maybe the same one from earlier. He still can’t make out her face. He croaks out her name as though he knows it, but he can’t hear himself over the chaos around them. He starts crawling towards her as she does the same towards him, their hands outstretched.  _

_ Just as he’s about to reach her, something drags him away -- kicking, screaming, and crying.  _ And then he wakes.

He gasps out as he regains consciousness, his lungs desperate for air. It's as if he's been holding his breath the entire time -- and he might've been. He sits up slowly, tugging off his sweat-soaked shirt in the process.

The contents of his nightmares are always different but some elements remain constant. It always starts happy, then the chaos quickly follows. The crying girl is sometimes a younger boy, other times an older boy. Sometimes the father is there, too. He rarely sees the six of them at once -- the mother, the father, and their four children. Five, if you count him. He seems to always be a part of them. He doesn't know how to make sense of it; he never even sees their faces, never hears their names, but something about them feels familiar. Like ghosts haunting him in his sleep.

He takes his phone from underneath his pillow to check the time. He lets out a sigh; it’s only two in the morning. He could try to fall back to sleep but he decides against it. It’ll take him hours to clear his mind from that dream, and by then it’d be time to help his father out at the shop. He might as well just stay up and wait.

He can never fall back to sleep after those dreams, anyway, so he instead goes through his inbox and pulls up his conversation with his best friend. She's likely to still be awake, he thinks. She likes to stay up late with her books on weekends and time always gets away with her when she does.

_ still awake? _ he texts. They’ve kind of been in a fight for days now so they haven’t spoken but he’s hoping she responds to him anyway. He waits for a few minutes before giving up. 

He rises from his bed and tugs on a hoodie he finds lying on the floor and slips on his pair of sneakers by the door, then he walks over to the window. He's careful not to make any noise as he pulls it up, mindful not to disrupt his older brother, Steffon, who's snoring peacefully on his bed just a few feet away.

He slips out through the window seamlessly, carefully takes hold of the sill before climbing down the ground as he has done a hundred times before. He walks to the front of the house for his bike before heading out. Their house is a long way away from civilization, pretty much hidden on the edge of the forest, so it’s a long journey into town. 

He's halfway to Rainwood Park when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He stops on the side of the street to pick it up, knowing it could only be Shireen.

"Hey. I thought you might be sleeping," he tells her breathlessly, sweat dripping down his face. He swipes it away with the back of his arm. He's been riding hard and fast, trying to get to the park at half the time it would usually take.

"Where are you?" He can almost see the frown on her face as she asks this.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you'd be whispering if you were at home right now," she states factually.

He scratches his head. She’s right, of course. With the thin walls in their tiny house that shelters six people, every little movement feels so loud he can barely do anything without alerting all his family.

"I'm heading to the park," he tells her honestly. "I just didn’t want to go back to sleep."

She would know what he means. They’ve known each other for years and she’s pretty much the only person he still confides in about his nightmares. 

"Okay,” she says after a short bout of silence. “I'll meet you there in ten."

"No, wait. I don't want to get you in trouble. Not now, anyway. I'm pretty sure I just made it on top of your father's hit list, he might actually murder me if he finds out you’re out with me this late."

"He won’t find out," she insists. "So I'll meet you at the park in ten."

She drops the call before he can argue further and he lets out a resigned sigh, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "I am so dead."

Shireen’s house is much closer to the park than his is, so he triples his speed knowing that she'd be on her way. There's usually a few other people hanging around there at this time, some of them had news, so he wouldn't want her to be on her own for long. 

His muscles are aching by the time he arrives at the - thankfully empty - park. He finds her already waiting for him by the swing, scrolling through her phone as she waits. He drops his bike on the side before coming to approach her. She's snug in her wool coat, her plaid pajamas peeking out slightly. The sight of her brings a smile to his face. He hasn’t seen her in a couple of days, not since he got suspended from school, and they haven’t been talking either, so it’s probably the longest they’ve gone apart.

As he walks towards her and she takes notice of his arrival, he can almost make out the frown forming between her brows. It's the same kind of look he's been getting from the rest of his family lately, only without the obvious disappointment.

"How’s your face?" she asks as he claims the seat next to her. 

Before he can even respond, she drags the chain of his swing towards her. Her free hand reaches for his jaw, turning his head sideways towards the light so she can get a good look at the bruises on his face. 

He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously as she continues her inspection. "It's not as bad as it looks.”

There’s this look of frustration on her face, obviously not assured by his claim. "What am I gonna do with you, Junior?" 

He pulls away from her; it’s his turn to frown. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

“You know exactly what I mean,” she tells him accusingly, sighing out. “It feels like recently you’ve just been asking for trouble. This is the third time this month that you’ve gotten into a fight, only this time is worse. You broke a classmate’s nose and nearly injured a teacher in the process. I don’t know what’s going on with you and it - “

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he cuts her off.  _ Okay _ , at least not the ‘almost injuring a teacher’ part. The other thing -- well, he might not have wanted things to go that bad but he can’t say he regrets it. Thomas deserves what he got.

“I know you didn’t mean for  _ any  _ of it to happen,” Shireen tells him pointedly, as if she could hear his opposing thoughts. “But we both know you wanted a fight and you got it.”

He opens his mouth to argue but no words come out. She's right; he welcomed a fight. And it's hard to lie to someone who knows him better than anyone else. He may have been minding his own business when Thomos started messing with him and spouting his usual bullshit but he knew better than to escalate things. He could have just done what he’s always done and tried to talk his way out of a fight but he chose not to. 

And he ended up hurting people.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he admits quietly to Shireen, looking up at the sky. "Lately, I've just been feeling so angry all the time."

He could almost feel her brows furrow in concern. "Did something happen that you’re not telling me?"

He reaches for the old leather bracelet on his left wrist and starts playing with the valyrian ring piece at the center, trying to distract himself from the anger and confusion slowly rising within him.

"Yeah, kind of... but…" He lets out a heavy breath. "I'm not - I don't want to talk about it yet. I wouldn't even know how to begin."

"Well, whenever you're ready to talk, you know I'm just here," Shireen lets him know. "Just please try not to get into any more fights? You're not that kind of person, Junior."

"Yeah. I'll try." He swings around his seat a little. “Anyway… how was school without me?"

While Shireen is generally a lot more genial than he is, they share the opinion that pretty much everyone at their school is intolerable. They’re all just so obnoxious and self-centered. As if they’re all convinced having rich parents counts as a personality trait. Honestly, it’s a surprise that he managed to keep himself from throwing punches for so long. 

She wrinkles her nose at his inquiry as if recalling something unsavory. "It was… stupid."

Then again, all the insults thrown at him never actually bothered him. He tilts his head, studying the expression on Shireen’s face. They can say whatever they want about him; it’s when they start going after people he loves that he won’t be so forgiving.

“Did someone try to mess with you just because I wasn’t there?” He asks, a frown forming between his brows. 

She waves it off. “No. Everyone’s just making up stories about why you actually got suspended.”

His eyebrows lift in curiosity. “Stories? Like what?”

_ This should be interesting _ , he thinks. She never pays attention to those kinds of things; she’d much rather stick her nose in a book than listen to any of that garbage.

She gives him an awkward glance before turning away. “Just ridiculous stuff,” she says, her voice sounding strange. She reaches for the side of her face, tucking her hair behind her ears. “You don’t have to hear it. It’s all just stupid rumors anyway.”

He narrows his eyes at her, feeling a smile tease his lips. “You’re getting flustered. Seriously, what is it about?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want to tell you. It’s weird.”

It’s all he really needs to hear to understand why she’s suddenly so awkward. He lets out a laugh. Then pushes her swing lightly.“Seven hells, Shireen, it’s not like it’s the first time people assumed we were together,” he reminds her, shaking his head in amusement. They've known each other since they were kids; pretty much everyone has assumed they're harboring romantic feelings for the other. It’s not news. “Your dad still thinks it and if you’re in my shoes you’d know that’s much worse than a bunch of stupid kids at school thinking the same thing.”

She scoffs. “Still, I don’t like it. I’ll never get a boyfriend if everyone thinks we’re together.”

His head whips at her, appalled. “What does it matter? All the boys in this place suck, the ones at school especially so. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you date any of them.” He keeps frowning, annoyed that this is even a concern for her. “You should probably wait until college -- or when you’re in your thirties, that feels like the safe age to start meeting people.”

She throws a glare at him. “You sound like my dad, except he believes the opposite. But like I told him, I’ll date whenever and whomever I want, asshole. I don’t need your permission.”

Junior snorts. “You did not call your dad an asshole.”

“It was heavily implied.”

“I take it you’re still fighting with your folks then?”

“No, there’s no point in fighting with them. They always do whatever they want, anyway,” she sighs out. “I just wish I was old enough to make decisions for myself.”

“Same. At least that way I wouldn't feel like such a burden to my family," he agrees, thinking out loud.

"Where did that come from?" Shireen asks in surprise. "You're not a burden. No one thinks that, your family least of all."

His older brothers might beg to differ; none of them even likes him. Even when he was younger, he'd felt a line between him and them. His father has always sworn it's only because he was born so much later than the rest of them and it sort of made sense. His oldest brother, Dale, turned forty just this year. And Steffon, who's the closest to Junior's age, is twenty-five.

It feels like it’s more than that, though. Over the years, Junior has noticed the underlying resentment in how they regarded him. At first, he assumed it was because of their father. See, he used to be in the Coast Guard. They all grew up with him far away. It wasn't until after Junior was born that he retired and decided to be with his family. This meant that Junior grew up close to their father while the rest of his siblings did not.

It wasn't until recently that he learned that there might be another reason… 

He shakes his head. "Don’t mind me, I’m just being dumb."

They stay at the park for a few hours, talking about nothing and everything. It's more than enough to distract him from his bad dream and it’s pretty nice that they’re talking again. Being stuck at home after getting in so much trouble has been unbearable without her on his corner.

“Oh, by the way, have you heard about Meryn Trant?” Shireen asks sometime later as they lapse into silence.

His head whips to her, his expression one of disgust. “Why would I have heard anything about Meryn Trant?”

“I dunno. You haven’t been stuck at home the entire time, have you? I thought you might’ve heard something,” she points out. “Pretty much everyone’s been talking about him. He’s dead.”

“Good riddance, then. He’s a fucking creep,” Junior states without feeling, recalling all those nasty rumors about the guy. He lives in the next town over but probably everyone in the Stormlands hates his guts. “You weren’t expecting me to shed a tear, were you?”

“No, of course not. But I haven’t told you the crazy part yet. He didn’t just die, he was murdered. And they haven’t caught who did it.” She pauses for effect. “Apparently, someone gouged his eyes and slit his throat then threw his body over that cliff at Griffin’s Roost. They recovered his body yesterday morning and they’re saying he died pretty recently.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?” He asks her all of a sudden, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What the hell, Shireen. We gotta get you home.”

She frowns. “What? Why?”

He gives her an exasperated look. “Why?! Didn’t you hear what you just said? There’s a murderer out there on the loose. What do you mean why?”

He rises quickly to fetch his bike from the sidewalk. He climbs over it then waits for her to follow. 

“Are you actually that scared? It’s not like they went after someone innocent. Maybe it’s a murderer who only kills creepy old guys that lure children into their homes,” she points out as she walks towards him. She squeezes into the small space in front of his bike, sitting sideways. “If that’s the case then I don’t really mind them being on the loose.”

He scoffs. “We’re talking about a literal murderer, so forgive me if I’m not all that willing to test that theory of yours.”

Thankfully, Shireen’s parents seem to still be asleep when they get to her house. He breathes out a sigh of relief; he really wasn’t looking forward to a scolding from her parents. Especially since there’s apparently a murderer out there. Her father would have been livid if he found out Junior “dragged his daughter into his usual shenanigans” so late in the night. 

Unlike her parents though, he’s pretty sure his entire family would already be awake by the time he gets back. In fact, his father is the only one left at home when he arrives, the man waiting for him in front of their house with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

"Morning, Pops," he greets, somewhat sheepish for getting caught. "I - uh - woke up a bit early. Just, uh -- just thought I'd get some air."

He gives him a knowing look. "Shireen get home okay?"

Junior opens his mouth to respond, maybe deny it. It's useless to lie, though. He doesn't have many friends - it’s just Shireen, really - so it's not hard to guess he was out with her.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, she did."

"Okay. That's good." He gestures towards the house. "Go on in and get more sleep. You should rest."

He shakes his head. "I'm not tired. I'll just prepare and head to the shop with Stef."

"Your brother already left. He's picking up a car at Stonehelm. Go on in and do what you need to do, I'll wait."

He speeds into the house, heading to his bedroom first. He takes about fifteen minutes max to shower and get dressed, then he heads back down to grab some food. He takes the packed sandwich on the kitchen counter his mother must’ve prepared for him before heading back outside.

Weekends are usually their busiest at the shop so they always try to get there extra early to work on the cars they have in the queue, most of which requires a lot of work. They also usually get a lot of walk-ins halfway through the day for routine car maintenance and the periodical out-of-towners with their cars breaking down after a long drive.

When he started spending most of his free time helping out at the shop, he mostly took care of bookkeeping and accounting since he was good at math and none of his other siblings liked doing that. With Maric moving out and Devan now working security for Shireen’s dad, Junior had to step up and take on more responsibilities. He doesn’t mind, though. He enjoys learning from his father and it helps that he practically grew up around cars so it’s easy to grasp the work.

It’s sometime around eight in the morning when someone with a broken headlight comes in. He comes out from the inside of the shop to check it out. From what he can see, the glass seems to have been deliberately broken, maybe by a vandal, since the area around it doesn’t have any dents that would tell him otherwise. 

He turns to the owner as she steps out of the car but he freezes at the sight of her. 

“ _ Mother…? _ ” he finds himself muttering under his breath, low enough that no one else could have heard.

He shakes his head after a moment, confused by the unbidden thought. Where the hell did that even come from? The woman didn’t look like a mother, least of all  _ his _ mother. She looks like she’s only in her twenties, probably from out of town. It takes him a moment to realize she’s staring back at him. She looks almost just as rattled as he was as if staring at a ghost, but the look is gone as quickly as it comes.

He clears his throat, scratching the top of his head awkwardly. “Uh, hi --” he points at the front of the car. “The headlight, right?” 

_ Duh, Captain Obvious,  _ he thinks to himself. He takes a pair of gloves from the toolbox closest to him before walking closer to inspect the car and the extent of the damage. He asks her a couple of questions as he tries to carefully remove the stray pieces of broken glass; it’s a pretty common car, maybe about ten years old. He’s worked on the same model a few times before so he’s familiar and headlights are generally easy to fix.

He straightens up after he finishes his inspection, taking off the gloves. “It won’t take too long to fix. I can order the parts now and fix it by morning. You can pick it up tomorrow afternoon if that works for you.”

When he turns to meet her eyes, he finds her staring right at him. Watching him. It takes her a few seconds to catch his question, looking a bit torn. "Is there any way to get it done today?" She asks, chewing on her lips anxiously. "I borrowed the car from a friend and I'm supposed to drive back to the city before lunch, I - I can't really wait until tomorrow."

"Ah, well - " Junior reaches for the top of his head. Normally, he wouldn’t even entertain the question. He’d simply direct them to some of the bigger shops around. They don’t have enough staff for rush jobs, especially when it requires parts that they don’t have on-hand. Still… she looks really distraught. And for some reason, that makes him uneasy. He  _ wants  _ to help her. “I can try and see what I can do but… well, it’ll cost much more than if you just wait until tomorrow.”

She nods. “That’s fine. I don’t mind.”

He goes into his father’s office to dial their supplier. It’s pretty easy to place an order for the parts, it’s the delivery that takes a while. They opt for deliveries every few days or so if it’s possible just so it doesn’t cost as much but it won’t be an issue if the lady outside is willing to pay for it. He informs his dad, who doesn’t argue about it, then he calculates the estimated cost of the job and writes a quotation to give her. She doesn’t ask many questions, she simply fills up the document he hands her and immediately pays in full. With cash.

“There’s a, uh, a diner, just across the street if you want to wait. It’ll be a few hours before your car is done,” he lets her know politely. He holds up the clipboard with the document she’s just filled in.“You wrote your number here, right? I’ll just call once it’s ready.”

“I don’t have my phone with me. It’s okay. Really. I don’t mind waiting.”

Junior scratches the back of his head. He’s not sure what to do; most of their clients opt to leave their cars for a day or so until it’s fixed so they rarely have them stay. The few that do usually just have minor car issues that don't take all that long to fix. 

“Uh, well… hold on -” he goes into his father’s office to grab a chair before coming back to where she is. If she’s sure she wants to stay then the least he could do is make sure she’s comfortable. “You want water? Or, uh -- well, the water’s actually all we have. Um, I could get you some if you want...”

She gives him a grateful, somewhat amused smile. “I’m really okay - ” her eyes flicker down to the name on his jumpsuit. “ - Junior. But thanks for the offer.”

“Okay, well… let me know if you need anything then. “ 

He starts disassembling her car to save time, starting with removing the bumper then the headlight assembly. He can sense her watching him as he worked, which is a little awkward. He doesn’t usually get an audience unless it’s his brother barking out instructions on what to do. After a while, he gives up the pretense that he doesn’t notice her staring. 

He turns to her, wiping the sweat off his brows with his jumper sleeve. “Uh, what brought you all the way to Cape Wrath, by the way? It’s not like we have much to offer tourists around here.”

It takes her a moment to realize he’s talking to her, too preoccupied with her thoughts.“Oh… just visiting family. My youngest brother lives around here. I haven’t seen him in years so I thought I’d go and see him now but…” She trails off and studies him with her piercing blue eyes that feel so familiar but he can’t pinpoint why. She can’t seem to decide if she wants to keep talking or not. After a moment of indecision, she takes a deep breath and offers him a sad smile. “...we got separated when he was young so he doesn’t really remember who I am.”

“Oh. That sucks,” he says, then winces. That’s such a lousy thing to say; he can’t even imagine how awful it must be for her to be going through something like that. 

A few other customers come and go and it takes up most of his attention; they release two cars back to the owners and get three more that need major repairs. Things start to get pretty busy so he zooms in and out of her view until the headlight assembly he’d ordered arrives. They continue with their conversation as he works on her car. She tells him a bit more about her brother and what he’s like. It sounds like she doesn’t know a whole lot about him since, as she mentioned, they were separated when they were young, but she seems to really love him and care for him with the way she speaks of the fond memories she has of him.

“Maybe you should keep visiting him,” he suggests, wracking his brain for some sort of solution for her. “You know, to help him remember?”

“You think it’ll work?”

“I don’t know but your brother will see that you care enough to try,” he points out. He knows a thing or two about feeling abandoned. He grew up with four of his brothers around but he never once felt like they wanted him. Whoever her brother is, he should be grateful that she’s even here trying. “If you love him and you want to make it up to him then it’s at least worth a shot, right?”

“Right,” she agrees, offering him a soft smile. “Thanks. You give pretty good advice.”

He grins. “I try.”

Then, afterward, it’s apparently his turn to speak. She starts asking him random, mostly trivial things. Like his favorite subject in school, favorite band to listen to, stuff like that. Much later, she points to his face and asks what happened. For some bizarre reason, although he hasn’t really spoken much about it, he feels compelled to tell her about what actually went down at school. 

“There were just some stupid kids messing with me at school. It’s nothing new,” he begins to tell her. 

There’s a sort of hierarchy at their school about which ones you can get away messing with. Anyone who comes from influential families is safe, obviously, but that’s about ninety-percent of kids there. Since he’s only a mechanic’s kid, messing with him is fair game. People like him often just try to keep their heads low, try to just exist without being noticed. It’s easy with years of experience but it’s gotten pretty difficult with Shireen’s family coming into focus again. 

Of course, her family has always been high profile, what with her late uncle being the former president of the country and all, but none of the focus was directly on them. Now, with her father and other uncle vying for the same seat, everyone’s paying attention again. This means she’s been subject to scrutiny at school and kids have started talking shit. 

Most of the things people say are about her dad - about his weird association to a cult and the subsequent cheating rumors with some red priestess - but there are a few other people that bring Shireen up just to make fun of her. They particularly enjoy making fun of this scar on the side of her face that she got from when she was a babe, which shouldn’t even be that big of a deal, but their schoolmates are a bunch of assholes, so, of course, they’d find something to insult her about. For obvious reasons, they don’t dare say any of that directly to her, but Junior has heard a few people joking about it so he got pissed. He called out a classmate for it and then it escalated into a fight. Thus, the bruises. 

“Everyone out here is just too fucking shallow, honestly. Why does it matter that she has a scar on her face? She survived a deadly disease when she was barely one year old. That’s incredible, right? Why don’t they talk about that instead? Not that it’s any of their business, actually. You know what, they can just not talk about her at all.” He blows out a breath once he’s done ranting then he turns to find the woman, whose name he’s come to learn is Winter, smiling at him. “What?”

“You like her,” she says. “Your friend.”

He snorts. “Of course I like her. She wouldn’t be my best friend if I didn’t.”

Winter’s smile only broadens at that. “No, I mean you l _ ike her _ , like her. As in more than a best friend.”

Slowly, he frowns. It’s not the first time someone’s asked him this but it’s the first time he’ll answer. “I’ve been friends with her since forever. It’s weird. I mean… how would I even know if I liked her in a different way?”

She takes a moment to think about it. “I guess you just feel it,” she decides to say, though it sounds like she’s unsure of it herself. She gives him a sardonic smile. “I’m probably the wrong person to ask. I’m twenty-five and I’ve never been anywhere close to falling in love.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate but...” He straightens up and leans into the inside of her car to turn on the headlights. He shows it to her, grinning like an idiot. “At least you got your friend’s headlight fixed.”

She lets out a laugh, bright and sudden. “Right. There’s that, at least.”

He walks back into the office to get her a copy of the receipt and to get her signature on theirs, He’s slightly disappointed that time flew by so quickly. It was really nice talking to her; it feels as though she’s someone he’s known for a very long time.

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot,” he calls out just after she’s entered her car to leave. “You said your brother lived around here, right?”

“I did, yeah.” She nods.

He lifts up a hand, rests it on top of his head awkwardly. “Well, what’s his name? I was thinking maybe if I knew then I could help you. Like, you know -- tell him you’re cool and all that. Or, I have your number on file, I could maybe check up on him from time to time and let you know he’s doing okay.”

“You’d do that?”

He nods in confirmation.

“When you find him, can you do me another favor?” She pauses to wait for his response. He nods again. “Can you tell him I love him very much and that I’m sorry it took me so long to find him? Tell him -- “ Her voice falters. He can tell she’s trying hard not to cry and he almost feels guilty for causing it. “Tell him I’ll fix everything and that I’ll come back for him then.” She takes a shaky breath, her blue eyes locked on him. “In the meantime, please stay safe and don’t get into any more trouble.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll tell him,” he promises, though he’s pretty sure her brother would rather hear all that from her than from some random stranger. He frowns after a second, realizing something else. “Wait, you still haven’t told me his name.”

She chews on her lip tentatively, as if she’s thinking against telling him. Then, slowly, she meets his eyes again, “His name’s Rickon. You promise you’ll reach out when you find him?”

He nods. “Yeah. Promise.”


End file.
